Fracture
by saiken2009
Summary: "A horrible accident leaves the boys struggling to pick up the pieces, as they find themselves tested physically and mentally. The biggest test, though, is to their friendship."
1. Brewing Storm

Author's Note: This is a story by both myself and Plushchrome. It will be set in modern times, but the boys will still be in their 20's. Little AU.

Chapter 1: Brewing Storm

"Alright, Mike, try it now," Micky said sliding out from under the Monkeemobile. He and Mike had just spent the last 4 hours trying to fix the car to no avail. Mike was behind the driver's seat ready to turn it on when Micky asked or handed him various tools when Micky needed them. Mike started the car, but nothing happened and Micky sighed in frustration. "I really don't know what else to try."

"We don't have time to try much else," Mike said looking at his watch. "If we're going to make it to LA for that audition, we have to leave now."

"I know," Micky answered. "And you plan on getting there how? The car won't start."

"Well, maybe we can look into getting a rental," Mike answered.

"We can't really afford that," Micky argued.

"If we get the gig we could," Davy said walking out and handing each of them a glass of water. "We have to go to this gig. It pays nearly a thousand bucks a weekend!"

"Yes, but there's still the issue of not having the money to get the rental car in the first place," Peter added walking outside as well.

"Well, Aunt Kate sent me some money a couple weeks ago that I set aside for emergencies," Mike said. "It's not much, but it'll be enough to get the rental car and get us to the audition."

"But Mike, that was supposed to be a present," Dave protested. "You were supposed to get yourself something nice, not put it in an emergency fund!"

"Well, getting to the gig on time would be nice," Mike quipped. "Look, Davy, it's my money, and I can do what I want with it. And what I wanted to do was set it aside just in case something like this happened. Because let's face it, we've got the worst luck in the world, and something like this always happens."

"Well, at least it can't get any worse," Peter said, right before the first peal of thunder rolled.

"Oh, why'd you have to say something like that, Pete?" Micky asked. "That's like doing a raindance and begging for trouble to find us!"

"Hey, I was just trying to be optimistic!" Peter argued.

"Alright, cool it guys," Mike said before Micky could come up with a witty comeback. "I've already got a headache brewing and we don't have time for this anyway. We still have to walk to the rental car shop."

The boys all agreed and walked to the shop. It took nearly half an hour by foot lugging their instruments with them and Micky sincerely hoped it wasn't going to make them late to the actual audition. Mike paid for the rental car: another nice little convertible similar to their own. As Mike drove to the audition, Micky and the others sat and relaxed. Mike drove a little faster to try and make up for lost time, but it still took them a full hour to get to LA. When they pulled into a parking spot in front of the theatre they'd be auditioning at, Mike jumped out and ran inside to check in; they were about 5 minutes late. The others grabbed the instruments out of the car and carried them inside.

Mike told them that even though they were late, they were still allowed to perform, but they were next. The boys rushed to setup their instruments after the band that had been playing finished and waited for their cue to start from the judges. They played very well, and Micky guessed they nailed their audition. Once their set was over, they packed up and sat to watch the other bands perform. Micky grew more and more disheartened with each new band, as they all sounded amazing. By the time the auditions were over, Micky no longer felt sure about their own performance. There was a very real possibility they would be outdone by one of the other bands. When they walked back out to the car, it had begun sprinkling a little and Mike tried to put the top up on the car. It got jammed several times and took all four of them to get it successfully into position, though Micky wasn't sure it was going to stay that way.

"I really hope they don't charge us for damage to this thing," Mike mused as they tried to find a way to keep it latched down.

"How can they?" Peter said innocently. "It wasn't our fault."

"Yeah, cause everyone's trustworthy," Davy said.

"Yeah, but we are," Peter said.

"Not everyone knows that, Pete," Micky said shaking his head a little. Sometimes Peter just didn't understand. He always saw the best in everyone and that meant that he assumed everyone else did the same. "Look, this is the best we're going to do for now, Mike. But we are very wet and I don't want the seats to get wet and gross, so maybe we should dry off before we drive home."

"There's a coffee shop," Davy offered.

"I was really hoping to just head home," Mike sighed.

"I know, but I also don't want to drive all the way back home in wet clothes," Micky said. "We'll be freezing cold and it'll be very uncomfortable."

"Ok, you have a point," Mike relented. "No reason for us to catch colds." The four of them rushed across the street to the coffee shop just as the rain started to pick up.

"You guys get a table by the fireplace," Micky said pointing to a nice, warm looking fireplace. "I'll get us some coffee."

"Decaf," Mike said. "It's already 9. We don't need to be up all night."

"Right," Micky laughed and walked up to the counter. He paused when he saw a very large sugar cookie sitting in the display case. It was almost calling out to him. He snuck a look back at Mike knowing Mike would probably chastise him for eating that much sugar this late at night, but he didn't really care. He wanted that cookie. He'd worked hard on the car all day and deserved a reward.

"Can I help you?" the pretty young waitress behind the counter asked.

"Yes, four decaf's and that sugar cookie," Micky said.

"Coming right up," the woman answered and set about getting the drinks and cookie once Micky had paid.

"What's that?" Mike asked suspiciously as soon as Micky set the cookie on the table.

"It's a cookie, Mike," Micky said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

"I can see that," Mike said irritably. "But what is it doing here?"

"Ooooh, you wanna know what it's doing _here_," Micky laughed. "Well, um, it's here because it's for us. I bought it, so we could have something to eat while we waited." Mike looked about ready to argue further, but then sighed.

"Whatever," he said. "I have too big of a headache to argue with you right now. You guys go ahead and split it; I don't want any. Just don't come cryin' to me tonight when you can't sleep."

"Deal," Micky said with a smile, breaking the cookie into three separate parts and handing a piece to Davy and Peter. "Thanks, Mike!" Mike just held up a placating hand and sipped his coffee. They talked for a little while as they drank their coffee, comparing notes on the other bands and discussing their chances of winning. After much discussion, they all ended up agreeing: They probably weren't going to win.

"I mean, we did really well," Davy said. "But I think we're just off our game today. Everything seems to be going wrong."

"Yeah, it sure seems that way, doesn't it," Mike noted, looking out the window. "Look, guys, we've been here for almost an hour and it's still raining as hard as ever. We're about as dry as we'll get, our coffee's pretty much done, and I just wanna go home and go to bed. There's no point in hanging around anymore, let's just go." The other Monkees all sighed as they stood up from the table; the fire had been nice and warm. As the others all moved towards the door, Micky stood for a few moments, just staring at the fire.

"Micky, come on," Mike called wearily from the doorway.

"I don't wanna move," Micky whined teasingly. "Mike, don't make me move! Let me just... lie here on the floor by the fire... and sleep all curled up like a cat." It even sounded weird to Micky's mind as he said it, but it was almost ten, and he'd had a long day, and all the sugar he had poured into his coffee when Mike wasn't looking had started to take effect. He laughed a little as he watched the fire.

"Now, this is why you shouldn't have bought that cookie," Mike noted as he came back and took hold of Micky's shirtsleeve, leading him out of the coffeehouse. They all piled into the rental, Davy and Micky climbing into the back seat as Mike got in the driver's seat and Peter took shotgun. Micky stifled a yawn, forcing it into a laugh, as Mike started the car and began the drive home.

"What's so funny?" Davy demanded irritably.

"You are, my little man," Micky said, reaching forward and poking Davy a few times.

"Me!?" Davy exclaimed angrily. "What- Stop poking me! Why're you picking on me!?"

"Because he's tired and hyped up on sugar," Mike answered shortly. "Try to ignore him, don't encourage it."

"Yeah, try to ignore me," Micky said. "Good luck." He began to prattle on and on about nothing and anything and everything, as Mike drove through the streets, windshield wipers going as fast as possible on the windshield, trying to clear the fast-falling rain. At this point, Micky looked over and noticed that there was something jamming the hinge of the convertible top. The top had been holding in place pretty well, but there was a slow trickle of water coming through from all sides.

"Hey!" Micky said. "I think I see what's wrong with the convertible!" Before anyone could say anything, he undid his seatbelt and turned around to kneel on his seat.

"Micky, what are you doing?" Mike demanded, glancing at Micky through the mirror.

"I'm just fixing the top," Micky said as he began trying to pull the obstruction out from the hinge.

"Micky, turn around and put your seatbelt on," Mike ordered. Micky ignored him and continued to examine the hinge. Upon closer inspection, it turned out the obstruction wasn't an obstruction at all, the hinge was warped and the bolt holding it together was half-out.

"Hey, they rented us a junk car," Micky exclaimed angrily, still fiddling with the bolt.

"Micky, please sit down," Peter said, turning around in his seat. "You might get hurt."

"How would I get hurt?" Micky asked, turning to face Peter. "I'm just-" The car hit a small pothole just then, and with a jerk, the bolt came out of the hinge in Micky's hand. He stared down at it in horror as the convertible top squeaked, and then flew open.

"Dammit, Micky!" Mike yelled angrily as rain started pouring in. "Look what you did! I told you to sit down! I told you not to mess with it! Now fix it!"

"Sorry!" Micky exclaimed as he tried to pull the top back up to keep the rain out of the car. He didn't have much time to really work on it though. Micky suddenly saw lights coming toward them, but didn't have time to realize what it was. Time seemed to slow down significantly as Micky felt the car jerk as though something had hit it and he was thrown to the other side of the car. He heard the terrified gasps of his friends over the squealing of tires mixed with crunching metal. In another second, Micky felt himself go airborne as he felt the car start to spin. The next thing he knew, his body hit the rough ground. Rocks and jagged asphalt dug into his arms. Pain erupted in his skull as his head bounced off the ground. Then everything was replaced with blackness.


	2. Crash

Author's Note: Read and review!

Chapter 2: Crash

Micky felt the soft pattering of water hitting his face. He shook his head to try and make it stop, but it kept hitting him. He opened his eyes slowly and realized he was lying on the street in the middle of a rainstorm. He couldn't remember why, though. Nor could he remember why his body ached so much. His head was throbbing, his arms stung like a thousand needles pricking him at once, and his leg felt like he'd been smacked with a steel baseball bat. He didn't want to move, but he didn't want to stay here lying in the rain either. He slowly pushed himself up and was faced with a bright light. Two car headlights were pointing directly at him.

As he raised his arm to shield his eyes, he suddenly remembered two headlights shining at him from inside a car moments earlier. They were in their rental car after their audition and he had been messing with the top. There was another car that had hit them. The headlights belonged to that car. He must have been thrown from the car because he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt and he had broken the top of the car. But where were the others? He pushed himself up the rest of the way and looked around frantically. It was dark and the rain was still coming down hard, so it was very hard to see.

His mind raced trying to figure out what had happened. Where were his friends? Where was the car? Why had they been hit? His eyes landed on a sign on the side of the road. A stop sign. His stomach dropped as he realized he was standing in the middle of an intersection in front of a stop sign; but Mike hadn't stopped. Mike must not have seen the stop sign because he was too busy yelling at Micky. If only he'd listened to Mike from the beginning, maybe none of this would be happening.

His eyes finally found a disturbance in the rain over a lump in the road. Micky forced himself to push the pain away and rush towards the lump thinking it must be one of his friends. He dropped to his knees next to the form lying in the road a few feet up from where he'd been. It was Davy; the rain was doing a good job of washing most of it away, but Micky could tell he had blood on his face and on his arms. He rolled Davy over and tried desperately to make him wake up by gently shaking him and calling his name. Slowly, Davy started to moan a little and open his eyes. It appeared to take him awhile to remember what was happening, too.

"What's going on?" Davy muttered.

"Davy, I'm so sorry," Micky said quickly. "We were in an accident. I need to know if you remember what happened to Mike and Peter? Where are they?"

"I...I don't know," Davy muttered. "I remember you falling and I tried to grab you, but it was too late. I don't remember anything after that." Feeling slightly more alert, Micky looked around again as Davy sat up slowly. He still was having trouble thinking straight; it felt like his head was working very slowly. But he spotted another lump in the road a little further on, and he staggered once again to his feet. Running over to the other lump, he saw that it was Mike.

"What happened?" Davy demanded, coming up next to Micky cradling one of his arms and looking down at Mike with wide eyes.

"He must've been thrown," Micky said. "You too, for that matter. But... didn't you have your seatbelt on?"

"...Yeah," Davy frowned. "I think so."

"Mike," Micky said quietly, turning Mike over and gasping at the amount of blood on Mike's face. Next to him, Davy paled and put his hand over his mouth. "Mike!" Micky said again. "Mike, wake up!" Mike didn't so much as groan.

"He looks bad," Davy said shakily next to him.

"He won't wake up," Micky said fighting back tears. "Where's Peter?"

"I don't see him," Davy said looking around. "I don't even see the car." Micky stood up and looked around. It took him only a few more seconds to realize that up the road a few feet was a guard rail going around a bend...and it was broken. He looked at the dirt and saw puddles forming in the shape of tire tracks.

"No," Micky breathed as he realized what had happened. Then he quickly turned to face Davy who looked like he was going to pass out from the fear. "Davy, get help."

"I can't leave Mike," Davy argued.

"Davy, listen to me very carefully," Micky said firmly grabbing Davy's shoulders a little tighter than he wanted to. "If help doesn't come for us, Mike isn't going to be ok. The only way help is going to come, is if someone asks for it. I have to go find Peter. That leaves you. Check on the driver of the other car and get help. Ok?" Davy looked reluctantly at Mike. It was clear he was terrified and didn't want to leave Mike.

"Are you alright?" someone shouted at them. Micky turned to see a woman running towards them.

"We're fine," Micky answered. "Our friends aren't."

"I called 9-1-1 when I saw the wreckage," she said. "They're on their way."

"Thank you," Micky answered. "We don't know what happened to the other driver." Micky pointed at the other car and the woman nodded and raced in that direction.

"Find Peter," Davy said dropping down to kneel next to Mike. Micky waited for about half a second, almost unable to leave Mike and Davy in such a vulnerable state himself, before racing toward the guard rail. He skidded to a stop right at the edge of a gently sloping cliff and saw the car at the bottom. His heart fell to his feet when he realized the car was upside down and there was already a small fire on the undercarriage. Peter was nowhere to be seen. He slid down quickly following the path the car had taken the whole time telling himself he was wrong. Peter wasn't underneath the car. He couldn't be.

When he finally reached the car, the scent of gasoline reached his nose. He knew if the fire reached the gas that was leaking, the car would explode. He dropped to his hands and knees quickly to see if Peter was truly under there like his gut told him. Amidst broken glass and twisted metal, Micky saw a clump of blonde hair and he suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. Micky brushed away debris and dirt to get a better look and realized that Peter was still in his seat with his seatbelt holding him upside down, but his body was also twisted in a disgusting way. And he was unconscious and bleeding pretty heavily from his head. Micky knew he shouldn't touch Peter until help arrived, but he had to get Peter out of the car before it exploded. Otherwise Peter would die.

Pushing himself down, he tried to wiggle into the car through the crushed and broken window to reach Peter. He was covered in mud which made him a little slippery, but he felt glass dig into his arms and chest as he slid through. He didn't care though. He had to get Peter out of the car. He finally was able to touch Peter and realized he had to somehow undo the seat belt in order to get him out. He couldn't see much in the dark, but the fire was at least giving him some sense of light. He finally found the buckle for the seat belt and tried to click it open, but it wouldn't come undone. He pulled with every bit of strength he could muster, but nothing happened. The buckle was jammed tight. He remembered that he usually carried a knife in his pocket and tried to move around a little to reach it so he could cut the seat belt.

Everything he did seemed to take forever. Every breath he took felt like the last breath before the car exploded, but he tried desperately not to think about that. He focused everything into what he was doing so it would get done as quickly as possible. When he finally got the pocket knife out of his pocket, he heard a groaning noise coming from the car. He froze for an instant, but forced himself to refocus on what he was doing. He flicked open the knife and started cutting at the fabric of the seat belt. He was only a third of the way in when he felt something hot drip down his leg. He jerked back quickly and cried out in pain. More glass dug into his arms and chest with the sudden motion and he craned his head to see what had burned him. He noticed a few drops of liquid coming down off the car and realized that the liquid must have been heated by the fire and dripped on his leg. It was too dark to be gas, but he was still worried about it igniting too.

He quickly turned back to Peter and checked to make sure he hadn't accidentally cut his friend. Relieved that there appeared to be no fresh wounds to his friend's body, he went back to trying to cut the seat belt holding him. Finally, the fabric cut through after what seemed like forever and Peter fell to the ground. Hearing another louder groan from the car, Micky quickly grabbed Peter under the arm and pulled while scooting out as quickly as he could. Finally, the two were free of the car and Micky lay prone on the ground next to Peter gasping for air. He hadn't even realized he'd been inhaling a lot of smoke with how deeply he was breathing. His chest hurt and he began coughing uncontrollably. But his efforts had been worth it; a few seconds after Peter had been freed of the car, the car exploded sending more glass and metallic shrapnel their way. Micky quickly rolled over to act as a protective cover over his friend. He felt heat tickle his entire body for a few seconds just before he found himself losing to the darkness once again.

* * *

Davy looked around once or twice, but he couldn't see Micky anywhere anymore, and he still had no idea where Peter was. But there was no way he was leaving Mike alone. Not now. After a few minutes, the woman came back over to them and knelt down. She let out a low hiss when she saw Mike, and then she stood back up.

"Where are they!?" she muttered. As if on cue, sirens could be heard as an ambulance sped up towards them. Another ambulance came behind it, as well as a fire truck and a police car. The ambulance stopped a ways away from the other car, and Davy found himself suddenly surrounded. He felt himself being pulled away, and fought instinctively.

"No!" He exclaimed. "Mike!"

"Calm down, sir," the medic said. "We need to get a look at him to treat him. I know you're upset, but if you don't let us do our jobs, we can't help him." Davy allowed himself to be pulled away, still staring at Mike as other medics checked him over and loaded him onto a stretcher.

"What happened here?" Another medic asked, moving to start treating him.

"Well, we were driving, and, um," Davy began. "The top came off, and then Micky fell out, and we were spinning, and then I fell out, and... and I don't... I don't know what happened..."

"That's alright," The first medic said. "What happened to you; did you hit your head?"

"Yeah, I think so," Davy said. "All I remember is- AAAH!" The medic, who had been checking his arm paused.

"It's alright," he said. "I need to check for breaks. It's going to hurt, but I'll be careful. Alright?" Davy bit his lip, but nodded. The medic began going over his arm, and all other thoughts were driven away as Davy tried not to cry out in pain. "Looks broken, alright. We need to get this splinted. Come with me." The medic led Davy to one of the waiting ambulances, but Davy still couldn't tear his eyes off Mike. They were cleaning blood off his face and checking for a heart rate all while spewing a lot of big words Davy didn't understand. He was so concerned that his friend still hadn't woken up, he wasn't paying attention to the splint being applied to his own arm. Finally, something else occurred to him.

"Micky!" He exclaimed suddenly. "My friend Micky, he went to look for my other friend, I don't know where they are." Suddenly, the sound of an explosion tore through the night and Davy's heart seemed to stop beating altogether. The medics that weren't preoccupied with him, Mike and the other driver all ran to a bent and broken guard rail separating the road from a hill, followed by several firemen. Davy could see the light of a massive fire beyond the rail, and smoke billowed up. He felt sick. What had happened? Had Micky gone down there to find Peter? Had Peter been in the explosion? Were they both dead?

"It's alright, calm down," The medic said.

"Ca- what are- how-" Davy sputtered, not able to catch his breath.

"Sir, you need to breathe," The medic said. "If anyone was down there, my friends will take care of them. You just focus on your breathing."

"Micky!" Davy yelled instead. "Peter!"

"Sir, calm down," the medic repeated. One of the medics came back up the hill then, and began talking to an EMT.

"We've got two," he said. "They're alive, but it's pretty bad. When we call the hospital, we'll need three trauma bays prepped. Trauma doc needs to be on scene." Davy swallowed, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief at the news that his friends were alive but then having that relief crushed at the urgency in the Medics face. He was finally able to breathe, however. As he relaxed, he started hearing other snippets of conversation. A few feet away from him, he saw an officer talking to one of the other medics on the scene.

"Judging from the wreckage and tire tracks, it looks like there was some pretty high speeds here," the officer said. "The driver of that car seems barely even hurt. Make sure you get tox screens on all of them."

"You got it," the medic answered.

"Alright, sir, we're going to take you to the hospital now," the medic that had been tending to Davy said. Another pair of medics were already loading Mike onto a stretcher and carrying him to the ambulance Davy was sitting in.

"What about my other friends?" Davy asked.

"They'll be right behind us," the medic answered. "We have to get the two of you to the hospital as soon as possible." Davy didn't want to leave Micky and Peter alone, but the other medics were already loading Mike into the ambulance with him and he was struck again by the amount of blood on Mike's face and head. Even though the medics and EMTs had cleaned most of it up, the wounds were still open and bleeding. He knew Mike needed medical attention quickly, so he allowed himself to relax a little and let the medics do what they needed to do. He stared at the smoke billowing up from the wreckage he couldn't see until the medics closed the doors to the back of the ambulance and he felt the ambulance drive away.


	3. Diagnosis

Author's Note: Plushchrome will be going on vacation for a week, so it might be awhile before our next post. I'll work on what I can, but this is a joint effort so I won't post anything without her approval. Sorry!

Chapter 3: Diagnosis

Davy was starting to get annoyed and desperately wanted to leave this room and find his friends. The doctors had not yet told him anything about any of them and the last time he'd seen Mike, he'd still been out cold and he was still bleeding from a large wound on his head. The medics had tried to stop the bleeding, but had only really been successful in slowing it down. Mike's arms had been scraped and torn up like Davy's and his breathing was slow and irregular. Between Mike's condition and not knowing how close Micky and Peter had been to that explosion, Davy was going crazy.

Instead of letting Davy see his friends, they were running endless amounts of tests on him. Davy kept insisting he was fine and that the only thing that really hurt was his arm and head a little. They got a blood sample from him filling up around 3 vials and they sent him for an x-ray of his arm and neck. The police had come in asking him dozens of questions about the accident, though he kept insisting he couldn't remember much; just that they'd been hit and spun out of control. He neglected to tell them Micky hadn't exactly been sitting down when it happened. He'd just returned from a CT scan of his head and now he was pacing back and forth in the room despite the fact the doctors and nurses kept telling him to sit still. When the doctor came in about half an hour after the CT scan, he insisted Davy sit down on the edge of the bed.

"You need to relax," the doctor said. "You're just going to work yourself up into a frenzy and stress yourself out. And if you're stressed, you're never going to heal."

"I'm fine," Davy argued. "I just want to know how my friends are. I want to see them."

"We've been over this, Mr. Jones," the doctor answered. "You cannot see them until you are medically cleared yourself and I cannot tell you what their condition is until I know and not without their permission."

"That's ridiculous!" Davy exclaimed getting angry again that he was being kept in the dark. "We were in the same accident! We've lived together for 2 years!"

"I understand that, Mr. Jones," the doctor said irritably. "But I have to abide by the law. I cannot disclose a patient's information without his consent. All I can tell you is that they are alive and are being treated. We have some of the best doctors on staff; they are in good hands. Now please, sit down." Davy's head throbbed and as much as he wanted to continue arguing, he just didn't have the energy. And he could almost hear Mike's voice in the back of his head telling him it was no use arguing with this doctor and to just let it go, so he reluctantly moved to the bed and sat down.

"I told you, I'm fine," Davy said. "Just a headache and my arm hurts."

"Your arm is fractured in 3 places," the doctor said. "That's why it hurts. Luckily we won't have to reset it, but it does need to be in a cast for a few months. Your brain bounced against the inside of your skull slightly and there is some swelling. Shouldn't be too major, but I would like to keep you overnight for observation just in case."

"I can't see my friends if I stay overnight," Davy argued.

"You can't see them until morning anyway," the doctor answered matter-of-factly. "Visiting hours are long since over and they are all still being treated for their injuries."

"Can you at least tell me if they're going to be ok?" Davy asked. The doctor sighed heavily and closed Davy's chart before setting it aside on the counter.

"Mr. Jones, are you going to be able to get any rest if I don't tell you?" he asked.

"Not really," Davy admitted. "They're my best mates. I would do anything for them. Give anything for them. Even my life. That's closer than most family members even are. And I promise that I will not give up until I know they are at least going to be ok."

"Mr. Dolenz and Mr. Tork do not have life threatening injuries," the doctor finally said. "That is not to say they do not have serious injuries. From what I hear, Mr. Tork would be dead were it not for Mr. Dolenz. He apparently pulled Mr. Tork from the car moments before it exploded and then used his own body as a shield to protect Mr. Tork further. Their injuries will heal, but it will take time."

"And Mike?" Davy asked feeling a little more at ease knowing that at least Micky and Peter would be ok; thanks to Micky.

"Mr. Nesmith's condition is still critical," the doctor answered and instantly Davy's unease came back. "He has a major injury that could go either way. It is too early to tell, but I will let you know what I can in the morning. For now, I will have someone come put a cast on your arm and give you some pain killers. Now, are you going to lay down and try and get some sleep once they are finished or do I need to ask the nurses to sedate you?"

"I..." Davy stammered. What did the doctor mean when he said Mike's injury could go either way? Did that mean Mike could die?

"Mr. Jones, I know you are worried about your friends, but there's nothing you can do for them right now," the doctor said. "Staying awake all night stressing and worrying about them isn't going to help them any."

"I know that," Davy answered solemnly.

"Alright, I'll have the nurse give you a little something to help you sleep," the doctor answered.

"What about the other driver?" Davy asked suddenly as the doctor was about to leave. "Is he ok?"

"He is remarkably relatively unharmed," the doctor answered. "Few bumps and bruises, but that's all."

"How is that possible?" Davy asked remembering the wreckage. He felt a little anger boil in him, too. If Mike was lingering on the edge, why was it that the other guy was unharmed? It didn't seem fair at all.

"I don't know the full story yet," the doctor answered. "The police are still conducting their investigation. Get some sleep, Mr. Jones. I'll see you in the morning." Davy sighed and laid down on the bed. He felt tired, but he was too worried and angry to really relax enough to fall asleep. Nurses came in to give him medications and put his arm in a cast. The nurse was very attractive and normally Davy would have tried to get her phone number at the very least, but his brain was too preoccupied. Part of him thought about trying to sneak out to see his friends, but he had no idea where they were. He was terrified that Mike might not be ok and he desperately wanted to make sure Micky and Peter were going to be ok. He knew the doctor had told him they'd be fine, but until he could actually see them how could he really be sure?

As the nurse instructed him to take a few pills, his thoughts turned to the other driver. How could the other driver be unharmed? Davy remembered the force of the blow on their car; surely the other car had to have been nearly totalled in order to have pushed their car off a cliff and cause it to explode. How could anyone walk away from something like that unharmed? If Mike, Micky and Davy had all been thrown from the car with the force of the impact, how was it possible the other driver only had bruises and cuts? What had even happened to cause the accident? Was it the other driver's fault or Mike's? Davy tried to push that out of his mind. Of course it wasn't Mike's fault. He was a good driver. He was the most responsible out of all of them.

Davy laid back down under the sheets and closed his eyes after the nurse left leaving the room empty. The blankets were warm and comfortable and he finally felt his body begin to relax. But his mind wouldn't. It couldn't relax until he had assurance that his friends were ok. He felt a small tear run down the side of his face, but didn't bother wiping it away. He was alone, so it didn't matter if anyone saw him crying for his friends. As his mind drifted slowly off to sleep, those words swam through his head. He was alone.

* * *

Micky groaned as he opened his eyes and the light stung his eyes. As he quickly snapped his eyes shut, he felt someone place a hand gently on his shoulder and heard a soft mumble off in the distance, but couldn't make anything out. His head was swimming as consciousness was coming back to him. They'd been in an accident and Davy, Mike and Peter had been hurt. Davy was with Mike and Micky had been trying to wrest Peter from the overturned wreckage of their rental car at the bottom of a cliff.

"Peter!" Micky exclaimed bolting upright and trying to focus his eyes.

"Micky!" called a familiar voice. It still sounded far away, but Micky could feel a hand gently try and push him back down. "Relax. Lay back down. Peter's here in the hospital with us. You saved him."

"What?" Micky asked turning to look at the person talking to him. It took a second to realize Davy was standing right next to him. He looked very worried and as he spoke again, his voice was full of concern.

"Please, lie back down," Davy pled pushing a little harder on Micky to get him to lie back down. "We're in the hospital."

"The hospital?" Micky echoed letting Davy guide him back down. It was then that he realized he was indeed lying on a hospital bed in a room filled with white. So much white it was almost blinding. "Can someone turn the lights down or something?"

"Sure," Davy said and rushed over to the wall before flicking a switch. One of the lights went off and the room didn't seem as bright anymore.

"What happened?" Micky asked.

"You don't remember?" Davy asked cautiously.

"No, I remember the accident," Micky answered. "Last thing I remember is Peter in the car. He was trapped and I was trying to get him out. The car was on fire."

"You got him out," Davy answered with a smile. "He's alive, thanks to you. He's here with us. They won't let me see him yet though."

"He's ok?" Micky asked hopefully.

"That's what they tell me," Davy answered.

"And Mike?" Micky asked. Davy didn't really answer, so Micky turned to look at him. His face had fallen and he looked like he was about to cry. Micky also suddenly saw that his arm was in a sling with a cast.

"They won't tell me anything about him," Davy finally said.

"What about you?" Micky asked indicating the cast and sling.

"This is nothing," Davy said brushing it off. "They said I fractured my arm in three places."

"What!?" Micky exclaimed. "That's not nothing!"

"I'll be fine!" Davy protested. "It's nothing! I'm more worried about you."

"I actually don't feel any pain," Micky answered. "I feel fine."

"That's because they gave you a lot of pain killers," Davy answered. "They won't really tell me what all is wrong with you because I'm not family, but a nurse came in here an hour ago to check on you and give you more medication in your IV." Micky looked up at a bag of fluid hanging above his head and realized he had an IV needle in his arm and a bunch of monitors attached to his other arm. A soft knock came at the door as Micky tried to unplug himself a little not realizing before how uncomfortable it all was.

"Don't do that," Davy said swatting his hands away after telling the person on the other side of the door it was safe to come in.

"I see you're awake, Mr. Dolenz," said a man in a white coat Micky assumed to be his doctor.

"Yes, and I'm fine, so can you unplug me?" Micky answered irritably.

"Not just yet," the doctor answered as Davy once again slammed Micky's arm away from the blood pressure cuff on his arm.

"Stop that!" Davy protested. "Don't make me hit you with my cast!"

"Look, I'm not in pain," Micky sighed. "I'm fine. Can you let me go?"

"Unfortunately you're not fine, Mr. Dolenz," the doctor said sternly. "You don't feel pain because we've numbed quite a bit of your body and given you some high dose painkillers."

"What's wrong with him?" Davy asked. "Can you tell me now? He's awake and he's giving his consent."

"Davy," Micky started. He wasn't really sure he wanted Davy to hear all of what was wrong with him, but the look on Davy's face made Micky swallow his words. Davy didn't really have to say anything for Micky to know that Davy was torturing himself not knowing what was wrong with them and if they'd be ok. Micky felt it too; after all, the accident was his fault. So he relented and stopped fighting.

"Mr. Dolenz, are you ok with Mr. Jones being here?" the doctor asked.

"Of course I am," Micky answered resting his head back against the comfortable pillow. "He's like my little brother. My annoying little brother." Micky didn't have to look at Davy to know the look Davy had given him. Normally Davy would have said something back, but Micky knew Davy was too concerned to retort.

"Alright then," the doctor said with a small chuckle at the boys' banter and consulted the chart he held in front of him. "You have some small swelling in your brain like your friend Davy, but it should go down within a week or two."

"You didn't say anything about that, Davy," Micky scolded.

"It's minor," Davy brushed it off. "Doctor said mine will heal in a week, too."

"They're just concussions," the doctor assured Micky. "Most they'll do is impair your thinking or memory. You have a small second degree burn on your leg and a large first degree burn on your back. You have some lacerations over most of your body, but most are minor and will heal quickly. I've already started you on some antibiotics to prevent infection. The biggest lacerations are on your chest where we pulled a few pieces of glass out."

"Glass?" Davy echoed anxiously.

"I think that's from me climbing in the car to get Peter," Micky said. "But he said they'll heal. Don't worry about it, Davy. Is that all, doc?"

"Not quite," the doctor answered. "It seems you also have a few fractured ribs. They aren't too bad and should heal over time."

"Fractured ribs?" Davy asked. "From falling out of the car?"

"I don't see how," Micky said. "I didn't feel any pain in my chest before I went to get Peter."

"Near as we can tell, you were hit with debris when the car exploded," the doctor said. "You wouldn't have been able to breath very well if it had happened before that. It's probably why you lost consciousness again."

"So you really saved Peter," Davy smiled. "The cops said you shielded him with your own body. If you hadn't, who knows what could have happened to Peter."

"Is he awake yet?" Micky asked the doctor desperately wanting to see his friend.

"Not yet," the doctor answered. "We have him under a light sedation for now to allow some better healing. I'm sure you can see him tomorrow."

"What's wrong with him?" Micky asked.

"They won't tell us anything," Davy grumbled. "We aren't family so they can't say anything."

"But we are family," Micky protested.

"Not legally, unfortunately," the doctor said. "I am very sorry, but your friend is right. All I can say is that Mr. Tork is under sedation and he will heal with time."

"What about Mike?" Micky asked.

"I can't say anything more than he's in critical condition still," the doctor answered.

"They said he could go either way," Davy grumbled again. "Not that I even understand what that means."

"It means we don't know if his injuries are going to heal properly," the doctor answered. "If they do at all."

"So you don't know if he's going to live or die?" Micky asked.

"Unfortunately, no," the doctor answered. Micky felt terror grip him and he wanted to scream. The accident had been his fault. If he hadn't been messing around with the car, Mike would have seen that stop sign and stopped. Davy wouldn't have an arm fractured in three places. Peter wouldn't need to be sedated. And Mike would be at home practicing his guitar instead of fighting just to live.


	4. Awakening

Author's Note: Plushchrome is back, but we're both gonna be a bit busy. We'll try and keep cranking these out, but no promises.

Chapter 4: Awakening

Micky felt terrible. He had been up for about a day and he was with Davy in Peter's room, waiting for him to wake up. And he felt just terrible. Not physically, although he felt a bit weird. No, the doctors still had him on pain meds, so he didn't feel much pain; he was mostly woozy and numb. What had him feeling so terrible was the way Peter looked.

The doctor had finally let him and Davy into Peter's room to see him a few hours earlier, but the doctors still wouldn't tell them what was wrong with him. Peter was hooked up to a heart monitor, blood pressure monitor, blood oxygen monitor, and an IV. He also had a breathing tube down his throat and his forehead was wrapped in a bandage. Below the bandage, he was very pale.

Davy had dozed off on the chair across the room, although he looked extremely uncomfortable. He kept shifting his weight and muttering to himself, although Micky couldn't understand what he was saying. Glancing back at Peter, Micky suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe, so he quickly looked back at Davy before he broke down and started crying right then. It didn't work. Davy was frowning in his sleep then, and he looked so hapless and broken with his arm in the sling that it just made Micky feel even more guilty. He put his head in his hands and groaned.

His mind kept flashing back to the accident. How could he have been so reckless? If he hadn't been goofing off...if he had just listened to Mike when he'd yelled at Micky to sit down. If it weren't for him, none of this would be happening. If it weren't for Micky, then Davy, Mike and Peter would be at home safe and sound. Not lying in a hospital room fighting just to live. They'd be practicing for their next audition or hanging around playing checkers or cards or something.

Micky jumped up quickly to try and leave, but his head spun and he almost lost his balance. He caught himself on the side of Peter's bed and forced himself to try and focus. When the room had stopped spinning, he quickly darted out into the hallway and leaned against the wall next to Peter's room. He would have kept going, but the sudden urge to throw up crippled him.

"Micky?" Davy asked walking up next to him. "Why'd you run off like that?" Micky tried to open his mouth to respond, but he felt a burn in the back of his throat and kept his mouth closed. "I should go get the doctor; you don't look good."

"No," Micky whispered. He really didn't want to talk to Davy about any of this. He knew Davy would only tell him that it wasn't his fault. He knew Davy would convince him to go back into that room and sit with Peter, but Micky couldn't. It was his fault any of them were even there; he didn't deserve to be in the same room as them.

"Are you sure?" Davy asked. "You look really bad."

"I...I'm fine," Micky muttered. "Just...I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Micky, it's obvious you're not fine," Davy said. "You look like you're about to keel over!"

"I said I'm fine," Micky found himself snarling. Davy looked stunned, then hurt, which only made Micky feel worse. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

"It's alright," Davy said, looking down. "I... It's alright." They stood there for a moment longer, and for the first time since he had known Davy, Micky felt uncomfortable. He felt like he was standing next to a total stranger. He shifted his weight and looked down. "I still think I should get the doc, though," Davy said, looking back up at Micky, who scowled. Davy let out a surprised laugh. "Fine then," he said with a smile. "At least come back and sit down. I'll get us both some water and be back in a minute."

"Yeah, whatever, little man," Micky sighed.

"You've come up with better," Davy said shaking his head. "I'll be right back." With that, he walked briskly down the hall, and Micky took a deep breath before stepping back into the hospital room. He felt his stomach churn again when he saw Peter lying there again, but he forced himself to sit back down in his chair. He was going to do this for Davy.

Davy came back a few minutes later with a couple of glasses of water in his hand. He handed one to Micky and kept one for himself before sitting back in the chair he had been sitting in before Micky had run out. They sat there in silence for nearly another half an hour with Micky fighting more feelings to run back out again before Micky noticed Peter's fingers were starting to twitch a little. He sat up a little and leaned closer to Peter to see if he was really starting to wake up or if he was just twitching.

"I'm just letting you boys know that visiting hours are almost over," one of the nurses said poking her head in the room slightly. "You have about half an hour."

"I think he's waking up," Micky told the nurse as he saw Peter's eyes start moving behind his closed lids.

"I'll go get a doctor," the nurse said ducking back out quickly. Davy jumped up from his chair and rushed over stand next to Micky. Davy clutched Peter's hand while Micky rested a hand on his forehead.

"Peter?" Micky said tentatively. "It's Micky and Davy. We're here with you." Peter's eyes started moving quicker and Davy gasped a little excitedly.

"He squeezed my hand!" Davy exclaimed. "Peter, we're here! You can wake up!"

"Don't rush him," the doctor said as he rushed into the room. He stood on the opposite side of Peter's bed and observed Peter for a moment. Peter's head slowly started to move confirming that he was indeed waking up. As soon as the doctor realized that Peter was waking up, he looked at the nurse who had followed him in and instructed her to help remove the breathing tube. Since he was waking up, he'd be able to now breathe on his own. The nurse gingerly pushed Davy and Micky out of the way so she could do as the doctor instructed. Peter opened his eyes as they were removing it and immediately tried to talk.

"Don't speak, Mr. Tork," the nurse said softly. Micky felt terrible when he saw the look on Peter's face. He looked terrified; his eyes were wide and darting all over the room and he was trying to force himself to sit up. "I know you're a little frightened, but you just need to relax for a moment. We have to take this breathing tube out of your throat first."

"Mr. Tork, I need you to cough for me so I can take this out of your throat," the doctor said holding the breathing tube. Peter coughed and they slid it all the way out of his throat. Micky didn't realize it was that long and he suddenly felt his knees weaken.

"What's going on?" Peter asked. His voice was much deeper and rougher than Micky was used to and it felt like a punch in the stomach.

"Just relax," the nurse said again reaching for a glass of water she'd brought in with her. "You're in the hospital. You were in an accident. Have some water."

"I was?" Peter asked drinking the water slowly. "Where are my friends?"

"We're here," Davy said pushing his way back over to Peter's side to clutch his hand again. "Micky and I have been here all day waiting for you to wake up."

"What happened?" Peter asked. "Where's Mike?"

"We got hit by another car," Davy said. "Do you remember it?"

"Barely," Peter moaned. "Where's Mike?"

"He's in another room still," Davy said.

"Mr. Tork, I need to ask you a few questions," the doctor said cutting off further conversations. "Your friends have been here all day, but I need to know if it's ok to speak to you in front of them."

"Of course," Peter said as though the idea of them leaving was preposterous. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just procedure, Mr. Tork," the doctor answered. "How do you feel?"

"I don't really know yet," Peter admitted trying to push himself up a little.

"You need to relax," the nurse said pushing him back down.

"You have some pretty serious injuries," the doctor said. "Please lie back down."

"Serious?" Davy asked frightfully.

"I don't feel that bad," Peter said.

"We've given you a lot of pain killers," the doctor said. "And we've had you under anesthesia all night. We weren't sure if we were going to have to operate on you and wanted to make sure you were sedated in case we had to rush you in. You fought it like a champion, though, and surgery wasn't needed."

"Surgery for what?" Davy asked. Micky stood silently in the corner of the room still feeling too guilty to go anywhere near his friend.

"He has a fractured skull which causes his brain to swell a little," the doctor answered. "We had to keep an eye on it because if the swelling didn't go down, we would have had to rush him in for surgery. In the cases where the swelling doesn't go down, we normally either remove a piece of the skull or drill a hole in it to relieve pressure, depending on the amount of swelling. It's called a craniotomy. We don't like doing that because while the chances of surviving the procedure are high, there are about 5 percent who die and even more who have severe long term complications."

"So his swelling went down on its own?" Davy said sounding very relieved. "He's going to be ok?"

"Yes, but there is also some swelling on his spinal cord," the doctor said. "We have not been able to get that under control."

"What does that mean exactly?" Davy asked.

"It could mean any number of things," the doctor said. "It could just give him some pain in the future for all we know, but we can definitely give him some medication to help control the swelling and keep trying to reduce it. We won't know more without more tests."

"What kind of tests?" Peter asked.

"We would like to get some images of your spine," the doctor answered. "Another MRI, some CT scans and more x-rays, stuff like that. We don't have a clear picture of exactly what's going on, and until we know more we can't do much. First concerns are your head. I want to ask you a few questions and assess your cognitive skills if that's alright."

"I guess," Peter answered.

"First, follow my fingers without moving your head; use only your eyes," the doctor instructed as he held up two fingers in front of Peter. He slowly moved them to the right, to the left, up and then down. Peter followed without any problems. Next the doctor shined a little light in Peter's eyes, but this made Peter recoil a little.

"That's really bright," Peter said wincing in pain.

"I understand, Mr. Tork, but bear with me for just a moment," the doctor said. Peter nodded and let the doctor look into his eyes with the light. He recoiled only slightly this time and the doctor made sure to be quick with this test. "Alright, can you answer a few questions for me?"

"Maybe," Peter answered. He looked over at Micky standing in the corner and Micky suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He couldn't read the expression on Peter's face to know exactly what his friend was thinking, but he could tell Peter was apprehensive.

"First question is what is your name?" the doctor asked.

"Don't you already know it?" Peter asked with a soft sort of chuckle. "You've been calling me Mr. Tork this whole time."

"Please just answer the question," the doctor sighed.

"Peter Tork," he answered.

"What is your birthday?"

"February 13th." The doctor asked Peter a few more questions before deciding that he was satisfied with Peter's cognitive state. Micky did notice that a few times Peter had to think for a second or two about an answer that should have just come naturally to him, but the doctor explained that with the brain swelling, some delay would be expected. The doctor then decided he wanted to test Peter's muscle strength. The nurse raised the bed so that Peter was sitting up while still relaxed. The doctor had Peter push and pull on his hands and make a fist before moving down to his feet.

"Push your feet against my hands," the doctor said.

"I … I can't," Peter said starting to become scared. "I can't move my legs...why can't I move my legs!?"

"What do you mean you can't move your legs?" Davy asked. His voice cracked a little telling Micky just how scared he was. Micky himself felt like he was going to throw up again. He closed his eyes hoping that maybe Peter was joking or that there was another explanation for it. Maybe he was just too tired.

"Calm down," the doctor said. "Mr. Tork, can you feel this?"

"Feel what?" Peter asked straining to look and see what the doctor was doing. The doctor didn't say anything but took something out of his pocket and poked Peter's heel. Still Peter didn't react.

"What is going on?" Davy asked. "Why can't he feel that? Why can't he move."

"Davy, breathe" Micky said speaking up for the first time since Peter woke up. He was terrified too, but freaking out wouldn't do anything to help Peter. If anything, it would make things worse.

"The pressure on his spinal cord could be causing paralysis," the doctor answered.

"Paralysis?" Davy echoed.

"Will it go away?" Micky asked trying to put more strength and confidence in his voice. "Once his spine heals?"

"I don't know," the doctor answered. "It's still too early to tell. I'll know more when I've run some more tests. In the meantime, you all need to remain calm. I know you are all very scared, but there is no use really in getting excited."

"No use!?" Davy demanded. "What'd'ya mean, no use!? You just said he was paralyzed!"

"Davy, calm down," Micky hissed. Peter was already freaked out enough as it was. He didn't need to pick up on Davy's anxieties as well. But the warning came too late, it seemed. With a strangling gasp, Peter closed his eyes and started hyperventilating. Micky heard the beeping accelerate and glanced at the heart monitor, which was going faster.

"Mr. Tork, please relax," the nurse said softly. "Just breathe."

"Mr. Jones, you need to keep calm," the doctor said. "Like I said, we won't know much without more tests. Stressing out is only going to make things worse."

"How can not stress out!?" Davy exclaimed. "You don't know anything!"

"It is very possible this could only last a few hours to a few days," the doctor said.

"What's the other possibility?" Davy asked his voice almost a shriek now. Micky stared at Peter who was trying to work with the nurse to control his breathing, but Micky could tell he was still freaking out.

"We will deal with that when we know more," the doctor said. "But what I can tell you is that your stress is going to make him stress and that hinders healing."

"Davy, maybe we should step outside," Micky said trying to pull Davy out by his good arm.

"No!" Davy yelled snapping his arm back violently. "I don't want to leave Peter!" Micky looked at the monitors again and saw Peter trying to slow his breathing, but wasn't able to calm himself down, instead he was glancing from the nurse to Davy to his immovable legs, his eyes darting from one to the other. Somehow Micky knew what to say and do. He wasn't sure how, but it was somehow as if Mike were standing there telling him what to do. Telling him how to take control and become the responsible one.

"Davy, listen to me," Micky said. "The doctor is right. Stress is only going to impede healing. Yours and his. Come out into the hall with me and let the doctors do what they need to."

"But..." Davy started.

"Please don't leave!" Peter cried.

"Peter, relax," Micky said. "Please. Everythings going to be fine. One way or another. I promise."

"I don't want to be alone," Peter cried.

"You won't," Micky said. "We'll be right outside. Just try and relax."

"I don't want to leave him," Davy argued. Micky let out a heavy sigh; he felt hopeless again. He'd tried to do exactly what Mike would have done and it didn't work. Who was he kidding? He wasn't Mike. He was the screw-up goofball that had made this mess in the first place.

"Nurse, we need to get him relaxed," The doctor said when they realized Peter wasn't relaxing on his own. He turned to Davy, who was staring at Peter and looking stricken. "Mr. Jones," he said sternly. Davy turned to the doctor, horror and desperation written in his eyes. The doctor sighed and turned back to the nurse, who had administered a sedative through the IV. He tried to calm Peter down as the medicine took awhile to take affect. Micky was a little upset they had been forced to sedate Peter again, but he knew in the back of his mind it was for the best so he didn't argue. Micky looked over at Davy, who had backed up against the wall. He was staring at Peter again, as Peter slowly but surely began to calm down. Davy obviously felt guilty. Micky was torn between wanting to be there for Peter or for Davy.

Finally, he decided that he could be there for Peter until he fell asleep, and then talk to Davy. So he took a step closer to the bed and put his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter visibly relaxed, and his breathing began to even out with the mixture of the sedative and Micky's being there. After a few more minutes, Peter's eyes drifted closed and his heartbeat returned to normal. The doctor sighed and straightened up.

"Well," he said. "Now that we've got Mr. Tork's permission, I can tell you what I suspected all along. Mr. Tork's spinal swelling was enough to cause paralysis. There was a chance that it wouldn't, but it did."

"H-how-" Micky stopped and cleared his throat, trying to sound louder and braver than he felt. "How long will that last?" He asked.

"There's no way to be sure," he The doctor sighed. "We won't know anything until the tests come back. I'll schedule them for the first thing in the morning. For now, let him sleep. Mr. Dolenz, you need to go back to your room and rest yourself. Mr. Jones, I'm sure we'll see you back here in the morning."

"But I want to stay with him," Davy argued.

"I told you visiting hours were almost over," the nurse said as gently as she could.

"But..." Davy said starting to argue again.

"Davy, I'll be fine," Micky said. "And Peter's going to be asleep for a while. Just go home and get some rest. For me?" Micky really didn't want to guilt Davy into going home, but he had to make sure Davy got some sleep. The doctor wasn't saying anything so as not to freak them out, but he had a bad feeling that there was a chance Peter could never walk again. This whole mess was his doing and he had to do whatever he could to make it right. Davy swallowed and glanced at Peter again, and Micky sighed. Guilting Davy was too easy, when none of this was even his fault.

"You sure you'll be ok?" Davy asked desolately.

"I'll be fine," Micky lied. "Just go home. I'll see you first thing in the morning." Davy thought for a moment, but finally nodded in agreement. Micky knew he wouldn't be able to sleep well that night, and he was right. All he could think about was Davy's broken arm and Peter's paralysis. Topping it all off was the fact they still had no idea what was wrong with Mike.


	5. Prognosis

Saiken 2009's Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. Physics is brutal and annoying and headache inducing. But I take my final soon and summer school will be over. For a month until the fall semester starts again and I have Chemistry 2, Calculus 2, an anthropology class and a geology class.

PlushChrome's Author's note: Hey everybody! I just wanted to officially thank you all for reading our story, and I want to thank saiken for being so awesome, and for really picking up the slack while I've been so busy. Seriously, other than a few paragraphs I write up when I can find the time, she's done most of the writing for a lot of these chapters, including this one. So, give a virtual handclap to saiken2009! :D

Chapter 5: Prognosis

Micky couldn't sleep. He couldn't get his mind or his body to relax at all. He kept trying to tell himself the same thing he'd told Davy about stress being a hinderance to healing, but it didn't seem to matter much to him. He just cared about what was going to happen to his friends. Davy wouldn't be able to play very well with only one arm. Sure he could still play either the tambourine or the maracas with one hand, but not both and it wouldn't be as good as when he played maracas with both hands. And people would just look at him with pity, and he knew Davy would hate that.

He desperately hoped Peter's paralysis was temporary, but even if it were, Peter's life would be utterly destroyed until it healed. He would become completely dependent on them; he wouldn't be able to do much of anything on his own anymore. Micky knew in his heart that no matter what happened, Micky would be there for Peter. He would do anything and everything for Peter. He closed his eyes against fresh tears as a few simple words that Peter had once spoken floated through his mind. "I would put my arm in the fire for Micky." He knew Peter had meant every word of it and Micky felt the exact same way. But now was his chance to prove it.

As for Mike, his thoughts were scattered. He didn't know what was going on with him; he didn't know if he was paralyzed like Peter or worse. His fears told him worse because the doctors had said they weren't sure if he was even going to live or die. Was he still on the brink of death as Micky lay there trying to drift off to sleep? Or had they managed to pull him from the brink and were now working to finish treating him? The doctors kept telling them they couldn't say anything without Mike's permission and since they had as yet said anything, Micky knew Mike must still be unconscious. Surely they'd have asked him if he'd woken up if they could tell his friends he was ok. Surely Mike would have said yes. So what did all that mean? It was now their second night in the hospital and if Mike was still unconscious, Micky knew that couldn't be good at all.

Micky heard the soft click of the door to his hospital room open and opened his eyes while quickly wiping the tears away. He wasn't about to start crying in front of the nurse. It's not that he was trying to be macho and strong or anything, but he knew that people who saw someone crying usually asked if they wanted to talk about it. Which Micky didn't want to do. She seemed to notice, however, because she offered a small sympathetic smile to him as she checked the monitors they had re-attached him to for the night.

"You really should try and get some sleep, dear," she smiled.

"I have been," Micky answered a little hoarsely.

"Is the pain keeping you awake?" she asked softly.

"No," Micky answered. He wasn't really in any pain; the pain meds were seeing to that.

"You're worried about your friends," she stated simply. Micky looked at her and felt himself start to cry again. She had been nothing but kind to him all night and somehow he felt that he could talk to her. She had probably seen it all after working in a place like this.

"I...It's my fault this is happening," Micky said starting to cry again.

"Why do you say that?" she asked gingerly. She wasn't shocked he'd said it like Peter would have been; she wasn't mad like Davy would have been. But she seemed to care all the same, making Micky feel like he could talk to her.

"Because the accident was my fault," Micky answered. "I was goofing off and distracting Mike; he kept yelling at me to sit down and stop goofing off. Because of me, he didn't see the stop sign and drove right through it."

"If it makes you feel any better, I did hear that the other guy is at fault, too," she said.

"What do you mean?" Micky asked. He'd completely forgotten about the other driver after Davy had told him that he'd walked away with only a few scratches and bruises.

"He was drunk and speeding," she answered. "The accident wouldn't have been as bad if he hadn't been going nearly 100 miles an hour and intoxicated. In fact, it very well may have been avoided."

"That's why he walked away?" Micky asked. He'd heard stories about how drunks could do that; their bodies didn't tense up so they didn't get as many injuries.

"You'd be surprised how many drunks I've seen walk away from car accidents where you'd expect someone to die," she answered.

"But no one died in this one," Micky said firmly. He was going to hold on to this belief until someone told him otherwise.

"No, but your friend Mike came close," she answered. "And that's all I'm going to say on that before I get in trouble."

"Came close?" Micky echoed with a little spark of hope. "So he's not dying anymore?" She merely smiled at him in response.

"Do you want me to give you a little something to help you sleep?" she asked.

"I don't think so," Micky answered. "I'm not really that tired. Maybe if I'm not asleep in a few hours."

"You do realize it's already almost 3 in the morning, right?" she asked with a slight laugh.

"It is?" Micky asked not realizing just how much time had really passed.

"Maybe I should just give you a little something to help you sleep now," she smiled. "You really do need to relax." Micky started to argue but there was something about the look on her face that stopped him. Maybe it was a good idea for him to let her give him the medication. He did need to sleep, after all. And maybe with sleep, he would stop stressing and worrying about his friends. So he reluctantly laid back as she left to get the medicine.

No sooner had she put the medicine in his IV and left then he felt himself start to drift off. When he closed his eyes, he expected his mind to blank out, but it didn't. Images swarmed through his head. They were all in the car again and having fun. Peter was smiling in the front seat next to Mike. Davy was laughing next to Micky. Then Micky was messing with the top to the convertible again. Micky desperately wanted to change what he knew the outcome would be, but couldn't. Again, the other car slammed into them and he was thrown from the car.

When he stood up in the rain, he saw Davy lying crumpled in the street a bloody mess. He ran over to him and turned him over only to find his arm completely missing and his face covered in blood. Davy moaned out Micky's name before disappearing in his arms. Micky called out to Davy, but silence only echoed around him. Peter then appeared a few feet in front of him and Micky ran over to him. Peter's legs were a crumpled, twisted mess and Peter was moaning in pain. He again moaned out Micky's name before disappearing. Micky crumpled to the ground and sobbed.

Of in the distance another form slowly appeared. Micky forced himself up and ran over to Mike, afraid of what he might see. When he turned Mike over, Mike's face was covered in blood and his eyes were open but they were staring blankly. Not moving. Micky realized his chest wasn't even moving. He was dead. Micky sobbed again and collapsed next to his friend who then disappeared as well. He heard Davy calling for him off in the distance, but didn't respond. He just lay there on the ground in the rain and sobbed. How could he have failed his friends so desperately? He could have killed all of them with one stupid action.

After a moment, Davy's voice became louder, piercing through the rain. He was calling Micky's name desperately and Micky stopped crying long enough to look around for him. He didn't see Davy and nearly went back to sobbing when he realized that Davy was pleading for him to wake up. Micky had nearly forgotten he was sleeping and that this was all just a dream. The nurse had given him something to help him sleep after telling him that Mike was going to live. When he woke up, his friends would all still be hurt, but at least Mike would be alive.

"Micky, wake up," Davy pled through the rain. When Micky opened his eyes again, he was back in his hospital room with Davy standing next to him gripping his arm tightly. The nurse who'd been with him the night before was standing there as well checking the machines and the IV hooked up to him.

"I'm awake," Micky grumbled.

"You were having a nightmare," Davy said sounding a little scared. "You were tossing and turning and nearly ripped out your IV."

"It's been resecured," the nurse smiled as Micky looked down at the IV in his arm. It hurt a little now and appeared to be bruising. "I'll get you some more painkillers."

"Are you ok now?" Davy asked as the nurse left.

"Yeah," Micky said moving to sit up a little. "It was just a nightmare. I'm fine now. What about you? Did you sleep?"

"Somewhat," Davy admitted. "I guess it wasn't much better than you. The nurse said she finally had to give you something at 3 in the morning."

"Did she now," Micky said annoyed. He really didn't want Davy feeling bad for him. He was supposed to be feeling bad for Davy. Then a thought struck him. "What else did she say?"

"Nothing," Davy said eyeing Micky somewhat suspiciously at Micky's sudden worry. "Is there something else she should have told me?"

"Of course not," Micky said breathing a sigh of relief. He really didn't want Davy to know just how much he was blaming himself for everything. He knew his friends well enough to know that Davy would adamantly put his foot down and say that the accident was not Micky's fault and that he shouldn't feel guilty. That it was just fate or something. And Micky really didn't feel like hearing it because he knew Davy would be wrong. He would just be saying that because he felt he had to as Micky's friend to cheer him up. Instead, feeling confident the nurse hadn't said anything to Davy, he changed the subject. "Did they tell you anything more about Peter or Mike?"

"No," Davy answered hesitantly. He clearly didn't want to change the subject, but did anyway. Making Micky feel even more guilty. "I only just got here. I mean, I got here a couple of hours ago, but they wouldn't let me up here. Visiting hours only just started about 5 minutes ago at 9."

"You got here a couple of hours ago?" Micky asked doing the math quickly in his head. "That means you must have been up since 5 or 6."

"4 actually," Davy said. "But don't start with me because you didn't even go to sleep until 3 and they had to give you meds just to do it."

"Yeah, yeah," Micky said lying back on the bed. At least his friend had gotten some sleep. The doctor came in to check on Micky about half an hour later. Micky asked if he had gotten Peter's test results back yet, but the doctor insisted on finishing with Micky's examination first.

"I think it will be safe to send you home in about a day or two," the doctor said.

"Why?" Micky asked. "Davy got discharged already."

"A fractured arm is different than fractured ribs," the doctor answered. "I want to keep an eye on them to make sure they heal properly. If they don't, it could be very dangerous. And with them being as fragile as they are, one wrong move and you could snap them further and pierce your lungs. As it is, I should have made sure you stayed in a wheelchair when you saw Peter yesterday. You need to be very careful today when you visit Mike."

"Which means no running out of the room for some crazy reason," Davy said. Then he seemed to realize just what the doctor had said. "Wait, we can see Mike today!?"

"Yes, in about an hour or two," the doctor answered. "We've stopped the anesthesia last night and now are just waiting to see if he wakes up on his own."

"What do you mean by that?" Micky asked fearfully.

"With his injuries, he may be in a temporary coma," the doctor answered. "That's all I can say for now."

"What about Peter?" Micky asked before Davy could argue with the doctor. Micky knew by now that arguing and trying to get more information by now would be completely pointless.

"We started his tests a few hours ago," the doctor answered with a heavy sigh. "I have already spoken to him and explained the situation to him. There is some swelling on his spine as we already knew, but when we examined the x-ray, we noticed there is also a small fracture on one of his vertebrae."

"What does that mean?" Davy asked.

"Those are wounds that should heal, but the extent of the nerve damage is still unclear," the doctor answered. "I told him that while he should get over this paralysis, there is a chance the nerve damage is permanent."

"Meaning there's a chance he'll paralyzed forever?" Davy asked.

"Yes, but it's a relatively small chance," the doctor answered.

"How small?" Micky asked.

"About 10 percent," the doctor answered. Micky wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. 10 percent was still a pretty big number when it came to whether or not Peter would get over his paralysis. Micky could only hope their usual bad luck didn't stray too far into Peter's chances to pull through. And if it did... He would never forgive himself.

Micky watched the clock anxiously for the next hour and twenty-two minutes before the doctor brought the news that it was time for a visit with Mike, followed by the nurse, bringing in a wheelchair for Micky. He'd gone to Peter's room in the wheelchair before and now they were wheeling him to Mike's room. The doctor insisted on making sure that Micky stay in the wheelchair this time after Davy had said he'd run from Peter's hospital room before.

When they got to Mike's room, the nurse moved him next to Mike's bed and told him to stay there and that she'd be back later. Davy stood on the other side of the bed and they both looked at their friend. Micky felt like sobbing again. Half of his face was green and blue from deep bruising and there was a long line of stitches in his chin. To say he looked pale was an understatement. He looked dead, if Micky had to admit it. They sat there for a little over an hour in complete silence before Micky noticed that Mike was stirring. Micky looked up at Davy to see old tears on his face mixing with new ones.

"I think he's waking up," Micky said softly. "Go get the doctor."

"Ok," Davy said and left. Mike groaned a little and Micky stood up enough to put his hand on Mike's shoulder.

"Don't talk, Mike," Micky said. He knew if Mike tried to speak with the stitches in his jaw, it would hurt.

"Sit back down, Mr. Dolenz," the doctor said coming back in the room. "Mr. Nesmith, I'm your doctor. Just relax for me. You're friends are here for you."

"What?" Mike managed sounding just as hoarse as Peter had.

"Mike, we were in an accident," Davy said. "But we're all ok. Mostly."

"What's going on?" Mike repeated opening his eyes and looking around a little. His eyes met and rested on Micky's face for a moment. Something tugged at Micky's gut; something wasn't right about the way Mike was looking at him.

"It's ok, Mr. Nesmith," the doctor said. "You're in the hospital. You suffered some head injuries. Would you like your friends to stay while I examine you?"

"I...I..." Mike said sounding very confused.

"Mike, it's ok," Davy said. "You don't have to be afraid. We're here."

"Who...Who are you!?" Mike asked, and Micky finally placed the look he saw in Mike's eyes. It was the look of someone talking to a complete stranger.

Mike didn't recognize him at all.


	6. Breakdown

Author's Note: Thanks again to MonkeeMidgie *author of Long Way Home* for help with some information here!

Chapter 6: Breakdown

The room went silent for what seemed like an eternity, before the doctor glanced at the two of them and then turned back to Mike. Mike had a look of fright etched with confusion on his face, so the doctor tried to get him to calm down. When he was finally able to get Mike calmed down enough, he began asking Mike different questions about who he was and other random things. But Micky wasn't really listening; his stomach was knotted and Mike's words rang through his ears.

Mike didn't know who they were. He had looked right at them and he hadn't known who they were. Even now, as the doctor asked him questions about himself, he kept glancing at them suspiciously, obviously wondering what on earth they were doing in his hospital room. Micky was trying to keep from looking at him because every time their eyes met, Micky saw the unrecognition there and it made him sick. Looking at Davy didn't help, because after the first few questions, the shorter man had started crying silently, something else that seemed to unnerve Mike quite a bit. The doctor finally stopped asking questions and wrote down a few more things on his clipboard.

"So doc," Mike said casually, although Micky could see the underlying fear in his eyes. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well..." the doctor said hesitantly. "You appear to have some amnesia..."

"Tell me what happened," Mike said in frustration. "...Please."

"...Before I can get into the details," the doctor said. "I need to know if I can speak freely in front of your friends." Mike glanced at the two of them, and Micky stopped breathing. "Please let him say yes," he thought. He looked straight into Mike's eyes, silently begging him to allow them to stay. Mike looked startled, then he turned away.

"S-sure, whatever," he said hoarsely. "Just get this over with."

The doctor nodded, then began explaining to Mike what had happened, how he'd been in the accident with the drunk driver and had been thrown from the car. He explained that Mike had received severe head trauma which likely caused the amnesia. He explained that Micky and Davy were his friends and that their third friend, Peter, was also in the hospital under their care. Mike looked like he was soaking it all in, but Micky didn't see a single spark of recognition at any of this. Mike didn't even blink when the doctor explained that Peter was paralyzed.

"Is this amnesia permanent?" Davy asked softly.

"I don't know," the doctor answered. "Brain injuries like this are very tricky. I've seen some people heal almost completely from a traumatic brain injury where others have died. In all honesty, Mike should have died last night as it was."

"I should have died?" Mike asked looking a little green.

"Yes," the doctor answered. "But we were able to pull you back. You're a fighter, Mr. Nesmith."

"So if he already fought past death, then he can finish fighting and get his memory back?" Micky asked tentatively.

"It's definitely possible," the doctor answered. "But it's no guarantee. Mr. Nesmith has memories of who he is, but it appears everything from the last several years is missing from his memory. With a head injury as severe as this, there's a very big chance that there will be some damage that may never heal completely. But it is much too early to tell."

"What can we do to help?" Davy asked in a pleading tone.

"There isn't much anyone can do," the doctor answered, "except return to your lives as you would any other day once you are all released."

"So just take him home and act normally?" Davy asked.

"Do we live together?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, we live in a beach house together," Davy answered sounding incredibly hurt. Micky wanted to talk, but his lips suddenly felt so dry and parched that he couldn't form words. "We've lived together for over 2 years. You really don't remember anything about us?"

"I'm sorry," Mike said. "I really don't. So we're friends and we live together?"

"Yeah, we're in a band," Davy said. Micky could tell he was trying desperately to hold himself together for Mike. Davy looked over at Micky as though pleading for him to help, but Micky just couldn't bring himself to say anything. Fear and guilt gripped him and he still couldn't say anything. He felt the desire to once again go running from the room.

"A band?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, we were just coming back from an audition when we got into the accident," Davy answered. "But we're more than that; we're best friends. You don't remember anything?"

"No," Mike answered. "The last thing I remember is packing up my stuff and catching a train to California."

"You did that years ago," Davy said. "You've been here for years."

"Mr. Nesmith, I need to do an examination to get a feel for the extent of the brain trauma," the doctor said. "First I want to test your strength. Push on my hands." Mike did as he was told, but Micky didn't see much movement between the doctor and Mike, but the doctor nodded and then instructed Mike to pull on his hands. Again, nothing much really happened between them. The doctor noted something down in Mike's chart and then told Mike he was going to look at his eyes. The doctor shined the same bright light into his eyes that he had in Peter's and had much the same reaction. Mike hissed in pain and covered his eyes. After a moment, he let the doctor look again and the doctor wrote something else down on Mike's chart.

"How is he?" Davy asked.

"I'm not sure yet," the doctor answered irritably. "Now I want to check your cognitive skills. You've already answered a few questions about yourself, but I want you to answer some other questions for me. First, I'm going to say a few words that I want you to try and remember."

"Ok," Mike said. Watching Mike look from Davy to Micky still with a confused expression made Micky want to throw up. He'd done this. He'd been responsible for the accident. He was the reason Mike didn't remember them. He clung to the fact that at least Mike was still alive.

"I'm going to say three words and I want you to try and remember them," the doctor said. When Mike nodded that he was ready, the doctor continued. "Ok, the words are pencil, hat, and paper. Now, I'm going to ask you a few general questions and ask about the words later. What is 8 plus 5?"

"Umm..." Mike started; he looked like he was straining hard to think. "13."

"Good," the doctor nodded and wrote something down on Mike's chart. "Normally I would ask your address, but you don't remember that. Most of my questions wouldn't work, but how about this? What is the capital of Arizona?"

"Phoenix," Mike answered after another few moments of hesitation.

"Good," the doctor answered. "Who was the first president of the United States?"

"George Washington," Mike answered again with hesitation.

"Can you say the alphabet from A through M?" the doctor asked.

"A, B, C, D, E, uh..." Mike started after a few seconds. Micky held his breath for what seemed like a full minute before Mike continued. As he spoke the letters, he spoke very slowly and his brow furrowed a little in concentration. "F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M."

"Excellent," the doctor said writing something else down.

"How is this good and excellent?" Davy argued. "He has to think before he answers! Shouldn't these be questions he can answer off the top of his head!?"

"He's had a traumatic head injury," the doctor answered with a slightly irritated tone. "I wouldn't expect his cognitive skills to be completely up to par. The fact that he knows what the answers are, is a good sign in and of itself. It means his swelling may not be as bad as it could be. I've seen patients who can barely speak after a traumatic brain injury like this, let alone answer simple questions."

"Can you please calm down...I'm sorry, what was your name again?" Mike asked. Micky almost lost it right then and there. He honestly wasn't sure what was keeping him from running from the room and Davy didn't look like he was faring much better.

"Davy," Davy answered. "Davy Jones. I'm your best friend. And so are Micky and Peter. You don't even remember a little?"

"No," Mike answered gruffly. "Stop asking me that! I already told you: yesterday I was boarding a train to California from Texas!"

"No, you weren't," Davy exclaimed desperately, jumping to his feet. "You were in here dying from a car accident after we played an audition like we always do, because we're best friends and we play in a band together and we never got our break, but we never gave up because you were always there for us!"

The doctor had tried to quiet Davy as he began his outburst, but he had little success. Davy was determined to say his piece, after which he stormed from the room. Micky thought about following, but he had to wheel the chair around the bed, and he glanced at Mike, who was staring at the door where Davy had left, looking afraid, but mostly unemotional. He had just watched his best friend break down without feeling anything at all.

"Alright, Mr. Nesmith, what are the words I asked you to remember?" the doctor asked with a heavy sigh ignoring Davy. Micky was torn between following Davy and staying with Mike, but he was sure the emotional detachment of the doctor was pissing him off.

"Is he ok?" Mike asked indicating Davy.

"I'll check on him in a moment," the doctor answered. "We really need to finish this. Now what are the words I asked you to remember?"

"Uh..." Mike said rubbing his head. "My head hurts."

"I understand that," the doctor said. "We can get more painkillers in a moment. What are the words, Mr. Nesmith?"

"Pen, plane, table?" Mike offered.

"Close," the doctor said writing something down on Mike's chart again.

"How is that close?" Micky asked. "He didn't get a single word right."

"Pen is close to pencil," the doctor answered.

"I can't think with this headache," Mike mumbled burying his head in his hands.

"What does that mean?" Micky asked. "That he didn't get the words right. What does that mean?"

"It means he may have a problem forming new memories," the doctor answered. "A temporary problem like this is not uncommon in injuries like this. But it's too early to tell if that is what it is or if there is something else going on. We need to run more tests." Micky was about to respond, but he suddenly saw Mike go stiff on the hospital bed. The doctor lunged into action and called out the door for the nurses. Micky watched as Mike's entire body went rigid and his back arched painfully.

"Mike!" Micky exclaimed ignoring the doctors orders and jumping out of the wheelchair. He felt a slight sharp pain in his chest, but ignored it as he leaned over his friend and grabbed his hand in his own tightly. "What's going on!? What's happening!?"

"Sit back down, Mr. Dolenz," the doctor ordered but Micky didn't listen. Mike's eyes rolled back into the back of his head and he started making a grotesque gasping noise.

"What is happening to him!?" Micky demanded as the nurses rushed in and started helping the doctor keep Mike stable.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself!" the doctor ordered but still Micky ignored him. The doctor moved quickly and started shouting orders at the nurses telling them to start various medications through his IV that Micky had never heard of.

"Please, tell me what's happening to him," Micky pled. "Please!"

"He's having a seizure," the doctor snapped. "Now sit back down!" Micky finally slowly sank into his wheelchair and felt every last ounce of strength he had wash away as he stared at his friend. His best friend who had no idea who he was.

"Mike," Micky breathed unable to fight back the small tears that started welling in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I'm so sorry."

"Get him out of here," the doctor said gruffly. Micky didn't have time to react before one of the nurses grabbed his wheelchair and pushed him outside into the hall. Davy stood out in the hall trying to look into the room but was being pushed back by another nurse.

"Micky!" Davy exclaimed breaking free of the nurse blocking him from entering the room and rushing over to Micky. "What's happening!?"

"He's having a seizure," Micky answered softly. He couldn't hold anything in anymore; he broke down and let loose a stream of tears and sobs. "I'm so sorry, Davy. It's all my fault."

"What are you talking about?" Davy asked kneeling down in front of Micky's wheelchair.

"Peter's...he's paralyzed, Mike has no idea who we are and..and is having seizures," Micky sobbed. "He almost died! And you...you have a broken arm. And it's all because of me! Why didn't I listen to Mike when he told me to sit down? I distracted him! He blew right through that stop sign because he was paying attention to me and not the road! I'm so sorry, Davy."

"Oh, Micky..." Davy started sounding sad and shocked. Micky knew Davy was trying to find the right words to say but Micky also knew that nothing Davy could say could change anything. Instead Davy threw his one good arm around Micky and held him tight. Micky wanted to pull away, but he didn't have the strength. Instead he just let Davy hold him and sobbed into his friend's shoulder. His own words echoed through his mind. Everything that was happening to them was his fault.


	7. Homesick

Author's Note: Let us know what you think!

Chapter 7: Homesick

When visiting hours were over, Davy walked down the street a little ways and hailed for a cab. Luckily, there was one close by, and Davy climbed into the back seat and gave the address to the driver before slipping into an apathetic silence. Pulling some earbuds out of his pocket and blasting music through them, he successfully let the driver know that he was not to be disturbed.

They had been taken to the hospital nearest the accident, and since the accident happened in LA, Davy had to take a taxi to get back to the pad every night. He'd considered getting a hotel room- for about half a second. With their rent overdue and their refrigerator empty, they couldn't have afforded it anyway. And now with the accident, they wouldn't have any source of income from playing gigs, and they would have to worry about massive hospital bills. Not to mention, if Peter even regained the use of his legs, he'd have to go through therapy to learn to walk again-

Davy halted his thought process right then and there, as he forced the tears to stay in his eyes. He refused to think on that issue any longer. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. Right now, his biggest concern was transport. He had been using the petty cash from the Petty Cash Jar to make the taxi rides, and the jar was emptying rapidly. With all the extra expenses coming their way, his conscious wouldn't allow him to take from the jar much longer. But he couldn't bring himself to skip out on visiting the others, not even for one day.

When the cab finally reached the pad, Davy paid the cabby and walked up to the front door. He stood in front of it for a few moments before turning the knob and stepping inside, looking forward to finally being alone so he could let loose and not worry about stressing out any of the others. He still felt horrible about what had happened with Peter. As he had stood against the wall, as far away from the bed as possible but unable to look away, he'd noted that for the first time in his few years as a young adult, he was thankful for his small size. He had wanted nothing more than to disappear. And then Peter had looked right at him, right into his eyes, as the nurse tried to get him to breathe. Davy had never seen Peter look more scared.

And then today he'd lost control again and had done the same with Mike. He'd freaked out and gone so far as to yell at Mike before he'd realized what he was doing and had fled the scene before anything bad happened. And something had still happened. Mike had a seizure. The doctor had told him that it wasn't anyone's fault, but that didn't ease Davy's mind any. He knew the seizure wasn't his fault, but he should have been there. Instead he could only be there for Micky, but Micky didn't need Davy as much as the others. Sure Micky was hurt and needed help, but somewhere inside him Davy felt a little angry with Micky. He'd finally figured out the reason Micky had run out of Peter's room before he'd woken up was because he felt like he'd been the one to hurt Peter. Davy was a little angry because he didn't think it was very fair of Micky to put so much energy into blaming himself rather than helping them.

Immediately, Davy shook the thought from his mind feeling more guilt wash over him. What could Micky possibly do to help any of them? At least he'd been there when Mike had gone into his seizure. Davy hadn't even managed to do that.

Realizing that he'd walked over to the kitchen and had been staring into the sink since he got home, Davy turned and walked slowly to the couch. He sat down and looked around the pad. Everything was just the way it had been right before the accident. Mr. Schneider was sitting in his chair under the "Money is the root of all evil" sign, the telephone under glass was on the kitchen table, the indian chief stood tall and proud in his corner of the room... But he felt like the room was practically empty.

For one thing, the bandstand was bare. All their instruments had been in the accident, and there was nothing left of them now. Even if they had survived the crash, fire and explosion, the rain would have done them in. Altogether, not even Davy's maracas had made it through the ordeal. It was devastating, really, but he hadn't even mentioned it to the others with everything that was on their plate. Besides, it wasn't like they could play a gig with the way things were right now.

Even without the instruments, though, the pad was far too quiet. Micky was supposed to be yelling or prattling or imitating some sort of animal. Mike was supposed to be writing music, humming little half-tunes he was thinking up, strumming a bit on the guitar as he did so, pausing every few moments to scribble a few notes or lyrics into his notebook. Peter was supposed to rush in and announce that something terrible was about to happen, that some spy or conman or wizard was after them for this or that reason, and Micky would make a joke and Mike would take charge of the situation and they would all go crazy trying to fix it until they inevitably fixed the problem.

Davy suddenly realized his cheeks were wet and abruptly stood up, angry with himself. He wasn't supposed to cry. He was supposed to be strong, for Mike and Micky and Peter. They needed him right now and he couldn't let himself fail anymore. He had to take charge, especially with Mike having amnesia.

For a moment, Davy just stood and stared at the floor in front of him, trying to get himself to calm down. This wasn't helping anyone, not Micky, not Mike, not Peter, and not himself, either. If they were going to get through this, he would have to learn to control himself.

Vowing to research ways to help keep himself calm later when he had the chance, Davy decided it was high time he settled down to business. They needed money. Desperately. He couldn't just sit around and wait for it to run out. First things first, he needed to see about getting the others transferred to a hospital closer to home whenever possible. With Micky, it didn't matter as much, he would probably be released much sooner than the others. But with amnesia and paralysis, Mike and Peter would be hospitalized for awhile.

Second, he would need to get a job. Of course, not many people would hire a short British entertainer with a broken arm, but he would take what he could get. A very important thing he needed to do was get a car. That one didn't need to be done until a long time later, as none of them were in any position to drive. But eventually, they would need one, and that meant either having the Monkeemobile repaired or getting another rental. And Davy really didn't want to get another rental.

His cell-phone went off then, and he could tell by the ringtone that it was his grandfather. Checking his watch to see the time, Davy chuckled. It was a little after 9:30 PM here in Malibu, making it a little after 5:30 AM over in Manchester. His grandfather was an early riser, but the hour at which he called made it clear that he was worried enough to call first thing in the morning.

They had already spoken after the accident of course, Davy had been sure to call Grandpa Jones as soon as he could, to be sure his grandfather knew he was alright. He might be halfway around the world, but news still traveled pretty fast.

Holding the phone up to his ear, Davy answered.

"Hello?" he said.

"Davy, m'boy!" Grandpa Jones said over the phone. "Good night, for you."

"Good morning for you, Grandpa," Davy responded, smiling despite the situation. There was just something calming about hearing his grandpa's voice, it made him feel much better.

"How are you holding up?" Grandpa Jones asked. "And how are the boys?"

"We're all doing alright," Davy said. "Well, about as well as can be expected. We finally got to see Mike today. He's... He's gonna be fine. He's out of the woods now." The line was silent for a second, and then Grandpa Jones spoke up.

"What aren't you telling me, son?" he asked. Davy bit his lip to steady himself before answering.

"Mike was hit pretty hard on the head," he said. "He had a seizure today, and... and he's got amnesia."

"Amnesia!?" Grandpa Jones exclaimed. "Oh, Davy, I'm sorry."

"He can't even remember me!" Davy said. "And that's not the worst part. I... I sort of freaked out on him a bit. He had the seizure after that."

"Oh, Davy..." Grandpa Jones said again. "Don't blame yourself, m'boy, there was probably another reason."

"That's what the doctor said," Davy admitted.

"Ah, well you know what I always say," Grandpa Jones said. "Never argue with your doctor, since your life is in their hands."

"Yeah," Davy said. "Still though, I can't help feeling that I caused it, you know? Especially after what happened with Peter."

"How is Peter, by the way?" Grandpa Jones asked. "He alright?"

"Peter's awake now, yeah," Davy said. "They're still not sure if he'll ever walk again. The doctor said there's no way to know for sure at this point."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Grandpa Jones said. "But I've been thinking, and I may be able to help you boys out a bit." Davy felt his eyes get bigger.

"Really?" He said. "How?"

"Well, I can't do a lot," Grandpa Jones said. "I've got money, but it only goes so far. However, I will help you where I can. Now, I don't know much about what happened, but from what I understand, there were a few very suspicious things about that car you were in, things that might have been the deciding factor in that accident you were in."

"Yeah, I guess there were," Davy said. "But how does that help us?"

"My boy, you need money to pay the bills caused by this accident," Grandpa Jones said. "And if the accident occurred through a fault of the cars, the company who rented you the car ought to foot the bill. Or, some of it anyway."

"You want us to sue?" Davy asked.

"Davy, that is your decision," Grandpa Jones said. "But I highly recommend it, and if you do, I am prepared to hire a good lawyer from your area to represent you."

"That sounds great, thank you, Grandpa," Davy said. "I'll think about it and talk to Micky. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

"There's one more thing, my boy," Grandpa Jones said. "Eventually, your friends will leave the hospital and come home, but their recovery will be far from over. You're going to be very busy trying to get back on your feet, and you're not going to have the time to take care of them. They're going to need a lot of looking after."

"What do you suggest I do?" Davy asked eagerly.

"Calm down, David," Grandpa Jones laughed. "What I was going to say is this: When that time comes, I can pay for an at-home nurse to come and wait on your friends."

"Thank you, Grandpa!" Davy said. "You're amazing!"

"Well, I only wish I could do more," Grandpa Jones said.

"You've done more than I could've," Davy said. "I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you!"

"Davy, my boy," Grandpa Jones said softly. "You're still alive. That's all I could ever ask for." Davy felt a lump in his throat and swallowed thickly.

"I love you too, Grandpa," he said. He heard a sniff on the other end and realized that Grandpa Jones must've been crying. Once again, those treacherous tears threatened to overwhelm Davy, and one even managed to make it's way down the side of his face. Davy rubbed it away with his hand real fast before bringing the phone back up to his ear.

"Well, I'd best be off," Grandpa Jones was saying. "I don't want to be late for work, and you need to get your rest. Good night, Davy. I miss you so much." Davy bit his lip again, forcing himself not to cry.

"I miss you too," he said. "Good morning." He pressed the button to end the call, and took a few deep breaths to compose himself. He always felt a bit sad after talking with his Grandfather. It made him feel homesick. But now, with his emotions running high and the silence of the empty room, it was even worse.

Still though, lots of good had come from the call, and Grandpa Jones always had very good advice. Davy hadn't even thought of the rental place being responsible in part for the accident, and as for a nurse, well, he wouldn't have thought of that until the time came for Mike and Peter to come home, and he wouldn't have thought they could afford it. Which was one of the reasons he usually left the whole "leader" thing to Mike. He just never thought about those kinds of things. They still had their bills to pay off, they still had a very long road ahead of them. But tomorrow he would talk to Micky about the lawyer, and maybe they could handle things for awhile.

That was another thing Davy loved about his grandfather. Grandpa Jones was always there to lend a hand, he was always there to help out when needed. But he didn't try to control them or make their decisions for them. He had learned his lesson back when he had tried to take Davy back to England. Now, he treated Davy like an adult. He gave him advice and offered assistance, but never forced them into anything.

Looking at the clock, Davy thought on the other advice his Grandpa had given him. He needed his rest. He'd had a very long day, and would have another one tomorrow. It was time to go to bed.

* * *

Micky sat on his hospital bed listening to the things Davy was trying to tell him about the conversation with his grandfather the night before. Davy seemed happy for the first time since the accident and Micky didn't really want to spoil it, but he felt very unsure about the whole thing. Davy was also talking about looking for work to help pay the rent since they couldn't perform at any gigs to have any income. He was talking about some of the ads he'd seen in the paper for bussers and waiters and various other jobs.

"Davy," Micky said slowly trying to choose his words. "I don't think they're going to hire a busser or waiter with only one good arm."

"Maybe not," Davy said. "But I need to do something."

"True," Micky said. "But think realistically. You might be better suited for a desk job right now. Like that answering service."

"That was a horrible experience," Davy said.

"Maybe," Micky said. "But we have to do something. Look, I also don't think we should take the money from your grandfather."

"What?" Davy asked. "Why not?"

"It's not right," Micky answered slowly.

"Is this still because you blame yourself?" Davy asked. "Because Grandpa said he thought it sounded like there may have been something wrong with the car."

"Davy, don't," Micky sighed. "There may have been something wrong with the car and the other driver may have been drunk, but the fact of the matter is Mike never would have ran that stop sign if he'd been paying attention to the road instead of me. There's no arguing that."

"Micky-" Davy started to argue but was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. The doctor came in and smiled at them cutting off any argument Davy was going to make.

"How are you feeling, Micky?" the doctor asked.

"Fine," Micky answered. "Can I go home yet?"

"Not yet," the doctor answered. "Your ribs are healing, but they aren't healing as well as we'd like them to. It may be because of what happened yesterday, but I'd like to keep an eye on it. You need to make sure you take it easy from here on out, Mr. Dolenz. Or else risk further injury to yourself or hinder your healing further."

"So, he can't see Mike and Peter?" Davy asked.

"Not today," the doctor answered. "I don't want to cause any further stress to him."

"Ok," Davy said a little grumpily; clearly angry that Micky had decided not to take his grandfather's offer. "I agree. No use in stressing anyone out. Can I see Peter and Mike?"

"I'll talk to Mike and see if he's feeling up to visitors, but Peter has been asking for you since last night," the doctor smiled.

"Is he doing any better?" Micky grumbled a little annoyed he was being treated like such a fragile doll.

"He's calmed down quite a bit, but unfortunately there is no change in his condition," the doctor answered. "We still don't know how long it will last."

"Great," Davy said. "How's Mike?"

"He's doing better today," the doctor answered. "We've given him medication to control any other seizures he may have. His memory hasn't improved either."

"Great," Davy said standing up. "I'm going to go visit Peter. And then I'm going to make an appointment with an attorney."

"An attorney?" the doctor asked.

"Davy-" Micky started to argue.

"Yes, my grandfather is paying for it," Davy said firmly. "He's also going to pay for an in-home nurse when Peter and Mike get home."

"That sounds like a great idea to me," the doctor said. "In fact the nurse outside has a brother-in-law who's a personal injury lawyer. You should talk to her. She can also get you some information on in-home nurses."

"Thanks," Davy said leaving quickly before Micky could protest any further. Micky wasn't entirely sure if he was declining the money out of guilt or not. Micky laid down on the bed and sighed heavily.

"It really is a great idea," the doctor said. "Having an in-home nurse may seem a little invasive, Mr. Dolenz, but you have to think about what's best for your friends. Having someone who knows what they're doing helping ease them into their new lives will be very beneficial to all of you, but especially Peter. With his paralysis, he's not going to be able to perform daily functions on his own. Not just moving around, but also simple things like bathing and dressing. That's a lot for you and Davy to shoulder on your own. Besides that, neither of you can assist him with that in your current conditions."

Micky didn't respond, but he did think heavily on what the doctor said. As much as he didn't think it was right to accept Mr. Jones' money, he did realize there was some merit to getting an in-home nurse. He and Davy both had to find jobs to pay rent for all of them, and that would mean not being at home to take care of Peter and Mike when they needed it. If both Davy and Micky were at work and Peter needed to go to the bathroom, who would be there to help him but Mike? And would Mike even be able to help Peter with that? Would he want to since he still had no idea who Peter was? Micky would, but that was a very personal thing to ask of someone who has no idea who you are.

Resigned to the idea that it may be best to just let Davy's grandfather hire the in-home nurse and lawyer, Micky decided to apologize to Davy the next time he saw him. The doctor went about finishing his examination of Micky in silence before leaving Micky alone once again with nothing but his thoughts, fears, and overwhelming guilt. It was all his fault. This entire thing was all. His. Fault.


	8. Meetings and Interviews

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Plushchrome and I have been busy with our other stories too. Hope you like it!

Chapter 8: Meetings and Interviews

A few days later found Micky and Davy in conference with the lawyer, a young man by the name of Dean Mason. Davy had taken the doctors advice and had called the nurse's brother in law to schedule an appointment. In front of the lawyer was a file containing the police reports of the accident, and Davy and Micky's statements as well. Davy had gotten all the information and medical reports the day before on Mason's instruction. Davy felt nervous about this whole thing, but knew this might be the only way to get the money to pay for the bills that were now mounting.

"From what I can see," Mason said. "There are a number of things that can help your case. The faulty convertible top, for one. If it hadn't been broken, the entire accident would have been prevented."

"But," Micky said biting his lip. . "I was the one who broke it."

"Not according to Mr. Jones' statement," Mason said. "According to this, the convertible was broken, and your attempt to fix it while the car was moving, while dangerous, wouldn't have caused it to come apart if it hadn't already been broken."

"So the hinge was jacked," Micky said. "How does that help our case?"

"Well, you gotta dig deeper than that," Mason said. "I took the liberty of looking into the rental agency, and as it so happens, there had been several complaints lodged their recently, about their cars and the state thereof. That car in particular, actually, had been complained about several times, and yet they rented it to you."

"You mean, they knew the car was unsafe and they gave it to us anyway?" Micky asked. He had a funny feeling in his stomach.

"That's what it looks like," Mason said, continuing to read the files. "Also, Mr. Jones, you say your seatbelt had been buckled at the time of the accident, yet you were thrown from the car?"

"Yeah," Davy nodded. "What was up with that, anyway?"

"Well, one of these complaints lodged with the company states that the seatbelts were malfunctioning. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that your seatbelts were broken in one way or another, and broke loose during the accident. That resulted in your injuries, and the injuries of Mr. Nesmith. I'd like to look further into that."

"But what about Peter?" Micky pointed out. "His seatbelt stayed on, and he ended up being hurt worse than me or Davy."

"It's my understanding that if Mr. Nesmith had remained in the car, perhaps the vehicle would not have gone off the road, and it would not have rolled, resulting in Mr. Tork's condition." Micky had to admit, it made sense.

"What about the other driver?" Davy asked. "The doctor said he was barely even hurt."

"Mr. Taylor, the other driver," Mason said. "Happened to be intoxicated and was driving well over 100 miles per hour, another factor which attributed to your accident. If he had not been speeding, the accident would never have taken place. I've worked with his insurance company before, you'll most likely get some reimbursements from them."

"Is there anything else that can help us?" Davy nodded.

"Mostly, no," Mason answered. "You just have to let me do my job. Mr. Taylor is behind bars facing drunk driving charges. This is his 3rd arrest for it in the last year."

"3rd?" Davy balked. "How is he still on the streets?!"

"Well, convictions like that are tricky," Mason answered. "He's never hurt anyone before now. So before now he's only ever been sentenced to a month or so at a time. But with this accident he could be looking at a few years."

"That doesn't seem right," Davy muttered. "Mike and Peter may be messed up for the rest of their lives and he only loses a few years of his?"

"Don't think that way, Mr. Jones," Mason said. "It's possible they'll recover."

"Possible," Davy muttered. "But we don't know for sure."

"Either way, there's nothing we can do, Davy," Micky said. "What does this all mean for us? If we sue the rental car company?"

"If we win the case, which looks pretty good," Mason started, "then they'll have to pay for your hospital bills and we can get you some money for pain and suffering. Now we'll be able to hold the hospital bills until the case settles, but the money for pain and suffering you won't get until the case settles which could take a while. As for the drunk driver, his auto insurance will pay for a rental car for you to use in the meantime until your car gets repaired. But we have to wait for them to come to agreement about the fault. They could very well decide to try and stall it because Mr. Nesmith did drive through the stop sign. They'll also pay for some damages, but most of it will come from the rental car company because the injuries would not have been as bad as they were if the safety features on the car were in complete working order."

"So we'll need to take a job to support ourselves in the meantime?" Micky asked.

"It's recommended," Mr. Mason answered. "You normally make your income as a band and since you are now two and a half members down, you need to find something else."

"Two and a half?" Davy asked.

"You can't play right now, either, Davy," Micky answered. "And I doubt I could even play drums that well right now until my chest heals. Don't take offense to it. You're arm is broken."

"Oh," Davy said. "That's true. So, jobs it is, then." He sighed. "Let's just hope we can get good ones." Micky was silent, thinking of Mike and Peter, and Davy. They were in this mess because of him. He would do anything to fix it.

* * *

"Micky, are you coming down?" Davy hollered through Micky's door. Micky had only been home for a day now and was trying to keep himself busy. If he kept busy, he didn't focus on the way their lives were spiralling out of control so rapidly. He'd organized his entire room 3 times, but hadn't been able to keep his mind off things. He was afraid that by organizing his and Mike's room, it would make things harder for Mike to remember them. So now he was putting everything back the way it was. He shouldn't have been changing it, and if Davy found out he was moving things around so much, Davy would almost certainly go off on him insisting he needed to rest. But all resting did was make him worry.

"Coming down for what?" Micky asked.

"The nurse interviews," Davy said. "The first nurse will be here any minute."

"Why do we have to do these again?" Micky asked opening the door.

"Because we have to find a nurse that we like," Davy answered. "There are a lot of nurses out there and we need to make sure we like her. I talked to my grandfather and he advised me on what we need to look for. Not every nurse will be the right fit for us."

"I have no doubt that whatever nurse you choose will be fine," Micky said trying to close the door. Davy stuck his good arm and stopped him.

"Micky, why don't you want to help me with this?" Davy asked. "I thought you got over this? You agreed this was best for Mike and Peter."

"It is," Micky said. "But I trust you to pick. You don't need my help."

"Micky, get over yourself, will you?!" Davy exclaimed angrily. "You're not the only one who's upset about all this! You're not the only one who feels bad! I don't need your help, but I want your help!"

"Ok," Micky said defensively unsure of what else to say. He'd never really seen Davy mad at him before.

"Thank you," Davy muttered angrily as he turned on his heel and marched downstairs. He reached the bottom, there was a knock on the door. The first nurse. Davy introduced them and indicated for her to sit down. He pulled out a piece of paper as Micky reluctantly sat next to him. Davy had a list of questions already written down and started going through them writing down what she said.

They went through an entire revolving door of nurses, each who sounded fine to Micky, but some of the notes Davy scribbled made it seem like Davy didn't like them. It was a long and exhausting 5 hours for Micky who never once asked a single question. He mostly just wanted everything to be over. His mind raced with fear and anxiety as Davy brought up the things Peter would need help doing over and over again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get rid of the guilt he felt in his heart. It didn't matter that the lawyers and the doctors had said that it was the other drivers fault, but Micky still couldn't ignore the fact that Mike would have stopped at the stop sign were it not for Micky. And if Mike had stopped at the stop sign, the other driver would not have hit them.

"Well, I think most of them are good," Davy said after the last nurse left. "What do you think?"

"I don't really know," Micky answered he wasn't sure what to say. He was worried about setting Davy off again, but really didn't see much of a difference in any of them.

"I think its between these 4," Davy said showing the papers to Micky of four nurses.

"I don't know, Davy," Micky said. "I think they were all fine."

"Maybe this one," Davy said. "Debra."

"I think maybe you like her cause she was the only one shorter than you," Micky said unable to help himself from making a joke.

"Very funny," Davy laughed. "She seemed smart. She really knew her stuff."

"Great, so let's go with her," Micky said. "I'm gonna go out for a walk."

"Where are you going?" Davy asked.

"I don't really know," Micky lied grabbing his coat of the coat rack. He was going to look for a job to keep them afloat for a while, but knew if Davy found out, he'd be angry. He was trying to make sure Micky rested since his ribs hadn't fully healed yet. But he knew it was only a matter of time before Mr. Babbitt came pounding down their door looking for rent. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Micky, maybe you should rest a little more," Davy protested.

"I'm going stir crazy here, Davy," Micky said. "I'm not doing anything strenuous. I just need some fresh air." He quickly walked out and shut the door behind him before Davy could protest any further. He didn't care what factors contributed to the accident and his friends' injuries; the only thing that mattered in his mind was the cause itself had been him. Goofing off and being reckless. Now he had to be responsible. He had to do what needed to be done for the rest of them. He had to make sure they had money for food and rent. And if that meant getting a normal job, that's what he'd do.

He turned into the first place he saw with a hiring sign in the window and asked for the manager. It was a fairly small, but busy looking restaurant. The hostess handed him an application to fill out while she told the manager he was there. Micky filled everything out and waited for the manager who came over about 5 minutes later. He looked over Micky's application and nodded a few times before setting it on the table to look directly at Micky. He asked several questions which Micky answered as pleasantly as he could and then waited for the man's final response. The man jotted a few things down on the side of Micky's application and then stood.

"I'll give you a call, Mr. Dolenz," he said shaking Micky's hand. Micky felt a little disappointed, but went through the same process at several other places. Only to have the same response each time. Finally he gave up and started home realizing it had been about 4 hours and he'd told Davy it would only be a few. Night was already falling and Micky knew Davy was going to lecture him about staying out too late when he should be resting. Sure enough, Davy was standing in the living room with his arms crossed over his chest. Sort of. It was hard to pull off when one arm was in a sling.

"You know, I don't even know why I bother," Davy muttered. He had looked as though he were going to ream Micky, but changed his mind at the last minute.

"What does that mean?" Micky asked defensively.

"I'm trying to make this work," Davy snapped. "I'm trying to make sure you get better and I'm trying to make sure that we have everything lined up and ready when Mike and Peter get home, but you don't seem to care about any of that!"

"Yes, I do!" Micky snapped back. "If you must know, I was out looking for a job so we can pay rent and get food in the cabinets for them!"

"You know very well you can't work until your chest heals!" Davy yelled.

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do?!" Micky yelled back unable to control his emotions any longer. "You can't do anything with only one arm and we need food and rent money!"

"You can't do anything with fractured ribs either, Micky!" Davy snapped. "The doctor told you specifically not to lift anything over 5 pounds right now! Who's gonna hire you with that kind of stipulation?"

"I didn't tell them that," Micky answered storming off to his room. "I'll be fine, Davy. Someone's gotta do it! And seeing as how this whole mess is my fault, it's gonna be me!" Micky slammed the door shut behind him and locked it before collapsing on his bed. He reached over and turned on the stereo as loud as he could take it so Davy might get the hint to leave him alone instead of try and work things out. When he did, however, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He hissed a little and tried to breath through it. After a few minutes, he pulled the bottle of pain pills the doctor had given him and swallowed one before laying back down.

He knew he was pushing himself a little too hard, but he didn't care. If he had to endure a little bit of pain to make sure his friends were taken care of, that was a sacrifice he was just going to have to make. He'd go to the ends of the earth and back for his friends. Surely he could endure a little pain while working so they had a roof over their head and food in their stomachs.


	9. Pain and Preparations

Author's Note: As always, read and review!

Chapter 9: Pain and Preparations

"They're discharging him!" Davy exclaimed a week later after hanging up the phone.

"What?" Micky asked putting down the newspaper.

"Peter!" Davy said. "They're sending him home! They're gonna keep him tonight but if everything goes well today, they'll send him home in the morning!"

"That's great!" Micky said excitedly. He and Davy hadn't really hashed things out after their argument, but things had sort of gone back to normal. There was still tension in the air between them, but they were getting by as if there wasn't. Davy and Micky had wanted to see Peter and Mike as much as possible while they were in the hospital, but they also had a lot to take care of before the two came home. Their car was still in the shop being repaired thanks to Grandpa Jones and a full cupboard of food thanks to Aunt Kate, but Micky didn't want to keep depending on them for help with rent and everything else. So he had been scouring the wanted ads behind Davy's back and would put in applications whenever possible. He'd had a few interviews, but nothing had panned out so far.

"I don't know if we can afford cab fare two days in a row," Davy muttered looking at the envelope of money from Aunt Kate and Grandpa Jones. There wasn't much left, but the two had told Davy and Micky that if they needed more, it could be wired the same day. "Maybe I should call Grandpa and ask for a little more."

"Why don't you just find a hotel near the hospital," Micky suggested. "It's gonna cost you nearly 40 bucks to get to the hospital in LA and another 40 to get home; just to do it again tomorrow. So why don't you just go there and get a hotel room for 50 bucks. That way instead of spending 160 bucks, you only spend 130 or so."

"What do you mean?" Davy asked, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Aren't you coming with me?"

"I'd love to, Davy," Micky answered. "You know I would, but I just don't feel up for it. I kind of just want to stay home. Maybe hang up a "Welcome Home" banner or something. Set up a few balloons. Move his clothes so they're a little more accessible."

"Promise me you won't hurt yourself?" Davy cautioned.

"I promise I won't hurt myself," Micky said. "Just go. I'll call the nurse and have her come over when he gets home."

"Ok," Davy said though he eyed Micky cautiously and called a cab. "They'll be here in 5 minutes. Slow day I guess."

"Did they say anything about Mike?" Micky asked as Davy walked into his room to pack a few things for the hotel. "It's been a few days since we've seen him."

"Yeah," Davy answered. "He's getting better physically, but he still doesn't remember anything. He's making progress on being able to form memories though. I'll probably stop and see him today and tomorrow before Peter and I come home. They want to keep him a few more days."

"At least he's getting better," Micky said as Davy started throwing clothes in a suitcase. "Maybe that means he'll remember us eventually."

"I really hope so," Davy said. "I don't know how much longer I can take this. I hate that he doesn't know who we are."

"I know, Davy," Micky said as Davy finished packing. "So do I."

"Call me when you get to a hotel," Micky said as they walked back out to the living room.

"We're gonna have to call someone to help make this place a little more accessible for Peter," Davy muttered.

"Yeah," Micky said. "We can take care of that tomorrow. Tell Peter and Mike I said hi."

"Of course," Davy said walking to the door. "Take it easy, Micky. Please?"

"I'll be fine," Micky said opening the door for Davy. Micky wanted to rush Davy out so he could start on making things accessible for Peter. He had been waiting for an opportunity for Davy to leave so he could do this. He'd made a list and had squirreled away supplies up in his and Mike's room. While they had gone back to their normal relationship, Micky knew that Davy would get mad at Micky again if he made the repairs to the house. But it was his responsibility, so he was going to make sure it was done.

He started by walking out to the garage once he was sure Davy was gone and pulling out the planks of plywood he'd picked up as scrap and carried them inside. He grabbed a toolkit with the other hand and walked back inside the house. He felt another sharp stab of pain in his chest and decided to take more pain pills before starting his task. Once he swallowed them, he set to work at the bandstand first. He measured the area around the steps and conferred with the measurements he'd looked up about wheelchairs. Then he started cutting the plywood and gluing, nailing and screwing them together to make a ramp so Peter could get up to the bandstand when he wanted to and go outside.

His next task was a little harder to do. He had to make the doors Peter would use wider. Wheelchairs were wider and the doors in this old beach house couldn't accommodate it. Micky had gone through and made a list in his mind about the things that needed to be done and had nearly forgotten about the doors. He had decided the easiest way to do this was to take off the doorframes and install new ones. He had priced out doors earlier and had managed to hide the fact that his own parents had given them money to help them along as well and he had taken that money and bought the wider doors a few days earlier, hiding them in the garage. He now went and pulled them inside along with a power saw and other tools he'd borrowed from Larry, one of their neighbors.

He worked quickly but expertly, having spent hours researching just how to pull this off. He took off the door to Peter and Davy's room first and then cut the doorframe out to the right width for the new door. He grabbed the caulk and lined the sides where he would install the door. Once he'd pushed the door in place, he checked to make sure it was level before using a nail gun he'd borrowed to secure it in place. He did the same thing for the bathroom door. The front and back doors were much harder. They were heavier, so as soon as Micky tried to hoist the front door in place, he felt pain rip through his chest and he dropped the door and collapsed to the ground.

He breathed through the pain until it subsided enough for him to move again. He grabbed the bottle of pain pills and popped another in his mouth and waited for the pain to become bearable again before getting up. He stared defiantly at the door wondering how he was going to do this. He didn't have long to think before Larry appeared in the open doorway.

"Hey, Micky," Larry said. "How's the project coming?"

"Not that well," Micky answered. "Guess I'm not strong enough to get that door in there."

"Why are you installing new doors?" Larry asked. Micky and Davy had been so preoccupied with everything else going on that while they'd told some of their closest neighbors like Larry and Milly about the accident, they hadn't told them how bad their injuries were. Micky thought this was probably a good thing since Milly could be a little overbearing anyway.

"Well, uh, Peter's probably going to be in a wheelchair for a while," Micky answered. "So I figured we needed to make the doors wider so he could get in and out. But it seems they're a bit too heavy for me."

"Why didn't you ask for help when I loaned you the tools?" Larry asked.

"Cause I thought I could manage," Micky answered.

"This is a two man job for someone at full strength to begin with, Micky," Larry smiled and crossed over to grab the door. "Did you clear this with Babbit by the way? You know he'd have a cow if you did any major modifications without talking to him first."

"Yeah," Micky answered remembering the conversation he'd had with Mr. Babbit about the whole thing. He hadn't been pleased, but once Micky explained the reason for everything, Babbit had reluctantly agreed. He'd also agreed to work out rent arrangements with Micky for the time being. Together the two of them installed the wider front door before moving to the back. Micky tried to hide the twinges of pain from Larry so he wouldn't find out Micky was working through some still pretty cracked ribs, but it was getting harder the longer they worked. The painkillers were only managing to bring the pain to a dull throb.

"What's next?" Larry asked when they'd cleaned up the mess from installing the doors. It was already getting dark and there was still a lot to do.

"We gotta move stuff for him to reach it easier," Micky said. "Lowering things in the cabinets and stuff. I'll work on the room if you want to tackled the kitchen. Just putting stuff on lower shelves."

"Sure," Larry answered. Micky walked into the bedroom and worked to shift Davy's clothes to the upper drawers on the dresser and Peter's to the bottom. Then he worked on the closet. He measured how much he'd have to lower the rod holding Peter's clothes to where Peter could reach them, but they still wouldn't drag on the floor before installing the rod lower. Once he was done, he walked out into the living room and started moving furniture around to make it easier for Peter to maneuver in the chair. Once they'd both finished everything on Micky's list and cleaned up, Larry gathered his tools and wished Micky a good night.

Once again, Micky felt a sharp stabbing pain in his chest and took another pain killer to dull it so he could get some sleep. It was late and he was about to drift off as the phone rang. He answered it to hear Davy apologizing for taking so long to get to him and explaining it had taken a while to find a hotel and once he did, he was so tired that he had fallen asleep. Micky told him everything was fine and wished him a good night. Davy said he'd be home around 10 the next morning, and Micky told him he'd be there waiting. Not long after he hung up the phone, he passed out on the black couch; no energy to make it up to his own bed.

* * *

Peter was lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was nighttime, Davy had gone to the hotel when visiting hours had ended, and the room was dark. When he turned his head, he could see the glow of city lights outside his window. He didn't know why, but the soft orange light staining the black sky always made him feel a little sad. Especially when it was raining, and the light shone off the wet concrete. But it wasn't raining right now. It was just dark. A passing car turned outside, it's headlights casting shadows on the ceiling, and Peter resumed his earlier act of staring at the ceiling.

He was going home tomorrow. Davy had been excited about it, whenever he wasn't visiting Mike, he was talking to Peter about how good it was that he was going home. Peter was excited too, but... he was also scared. He felt a little ashamed of himself, why should he be scared of going home? But he was scared all the same. At least here in his hospital room, everything was all under control. His world was small and secure and nothing was too hard and there were nurses around in case anything went wrong. Of course, there would be a nurse at the pad, Micky and Davy had seen to that.

A surge of gratitude came over him, as he thought of how much Micky and Davy had already done for him. He didn't know how he would ever repay them. Especially now that he couldn't walk.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying as hard as he could to move his legs. He held his breath as he kept trying and trying. But he couldn't even feel a tingle. It was like they weren't there. Sometimes, when he first woke up after being asleep, he would feel panicked for a split second before he remembered why he couldn't feel his legs. And now that he was leaving the security of the hospital, he was afraid.

He had been out of the room a few times in the wheelchair. He'd gone down the halls, with Davy on one side and a nurse pushing the chair, and he'd felt pretty helpless. he'd decided that going out into the big bad world was going to be even worse. He wasn't sure if he could handle it.

He closed his eyes tight as a few tears ran down his face. He was afraid that if he started crying, he wouldn't be able to stop. He didn't want to admit, even to himself, how scared he really was. He was trying to be strong, for Micky and Davy. He was trying to hide how scared he was, so they wouldn't worry. Somehow, he didn't think he was fooling them.

But he was scared. He was so scared. He didn't want to live the rest of his life in a wheelchair. There were so many things he wouldn't be able to do! He wouldn't be able to go surfing ever again. He wouldn't be able to ride his unicycle. He wouldn't be able to go up a flight of stairs. He wouldn't be able to run away if they were being chased by some evil villain, which, with their luck, would happen more often than not. At least once a week or so.

And what about the band? Would he be able to perform in the wheelchair? For piano, yes. But for the bass? He could totally play sitting down, people did it all the time, but it just wouldn't be the same. Still, though. He would play even if he never walked again, but... he really wanted to walk again.

Somewhere, he heard a clock ticking. He'd been awake for a long time, but he was too nervous to sleep. He would be going home tomorrow...

Home. A few more tears slipped out as he thought of the pad, and Mr. Schneider, and the monkey, and Micky's bird, and the "in case of fire, RUN!" sign... And he thought of Micky and Davy and Mike all being there, and they were happy, and he was there too, and nothing was wrong, and Mike remembered them...

Peter still hadn't seen Mike, he'd just heard about his condition from Micky and Davy. They assured him that Mike was getting better, he just couldn't remember them, and that made Peter feel sorry for Mike. He wanted to see him, Peter wanted to see Mike more than anything. But that was because Mike was their leader, he was like a big brother to Peter(even though Peter was older), and if he saw Mike, it might help him be strong enough to walk again.

But Mike didn't have that. Peter could think about Mike and Davy and Micky, and it made him feel better knowing they were out there and getting better. But Mike couldn't think of them like that. Mike was alone. The whole hospital thing had to be really hard on someone who was alone. Peter turned to the window again. The city lights made it impossible to see the stars through the window, but Peter knew they were out there.

"_Star light, star bright_," he thought. _"First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might. Grant the wish I wish tonight_." He worried his bottom lip; there were so many things to wish for. But, he knew what he would pick right now. "_I wish for Mike to remember_," he thought. _"It doesn't have to be now, but real soon. So he won't be alone_."

As he opened his eyes and stared at the orange-tinted black sky, Peter yawned. He guessed he was sleepy after all. Of course, thinking about Mike and Micky and Davy had helped. They were all out there, after all. Peter wasn't alone.

He closed his eyes again, and slowly let sleep overtake him. He would need to be at his best tomorrow, when he went back home.


	10. Homecoming

Author's Note: Not sure if you're all reading this, but I want to give a quick thanks to some wonderful people: BluCrayonsRTasty, Dolenz, Farfisa, JediStarMonkee, Cellomouse, and Justpatches. You know why and I want to thank you all again. Truly, truly wonderful people. Monkee friends make the best friends ever. :D

Chapter 10: Homecoming

Mike glared as the nurse came in, smiling cheerily and wishing him a good morning. He looked away and ignored her as she set to work, instead thinking about his three unknown friends. Of the three, he had gotten to know Davy the most. Micky hadn't been able to visit very often while he had been in the hospital, and then even less so after he had been sent home, and he hadn't even met Peter yet. Davy on the other hand had visited at least once a day, and had spent most of the time prattling about different places and people Mike had known. Hearing it was oddly comforting, but Mike more often than not tuned him out, not on purpose, but simply because it all meant nothing to him. And even when he managed to listen to it, he couldn't really remember it later when he tried.

And now he wouldn't be seeing much of Davy anymore. That was part of the reason for his bad mood this particular morning- that and his headache. He hadn't told the nurse about his headache, because he didn't like the way the pain medication made him feel. He had stubbornly vowed to himself that he would just suffer through it. Aunt Kate had always told him he had a stubborn streak. He missed her, and the rest of his family. Even though he knew in his head that he had been gone for more than two years, it still only felt like weeks to him. His trip to California had turned out much differently than he had expected. Or had it? He still didn't know. He had left to search for his music and make it big. Now he was in a band, but he was also in a hospital, with three best friends he had never met and a beloved home he had never been to. It was all very confusing.

And now that Peter was going "home," Davy would be too busy to visit as often as he had. Even though Mike still didn't remember his friendship with Davy, he had grown used to the shorter man's visits. It was one constant in a sea of unfamiliarity. A short British friend would come and talk about stuff, and it would make Mike feel a little bit better for awhile. But now, he couldn't expect it so often. Davy had told him about Peter's paralysis, and even if he hadn't ever dealt with such a thing firsthand, Mike knew how much work it would be to take care of someone in that state. Of course, Davy had also talked about a well-off grandfather and something about a nurse, but even with a nurse helping out, Davy also had mentioned looking for a job to pay some bills.

And Mike was stuck here in a white room, with nowhere to go and no one to see. It was all very frustrating, and his head hurt, and he couldn't walk around very much without the nurse telling him to take it easy, and his focus was all foggy, and he was going stir crazy, and now he was alone. All in all, it was shaping up to be a very bad morning.

The nurse left then, and Mike glared at the empty doorway for a while before getting up and walking to the window. He stood there and looked out through the glass at the city below, willing himself to see something that looked familiar. Tall skyscrapers, streets full of cars, a cloudy sky, and billboards advertising anything and everything filled his view. But not a single thing stood out to him as anything he recognized. He didn't even get a sense of deja vu. But when he closed his eyes, he saw clear blue skies over the plains of Texas, he saw the open range of Aunt Kate's ranch, he saw the trees by the little green house, he saw his favorite horse in the barn. He could smell the fresh air after a rainfall, he could remember the grass and the hay and his goosefeather bed in the attic. He opened his eyes again and saw the busy and smoggy city below. It was like a whole other world, one he didn't belong to. And yet, here he was. It made no sense.

The doctor said he would be able to go home fairly soon, but that only served to deepen Mike's bad mood. He wouldn't be going home. He would be going to a house. A house isn't home until you have something there that makes it one. And right now, his real home was halfway across the country. His real home was in Texas, and he was going to some place in the city to live with Davy and Micky, and Peter. Just one more thing for him to not remember. Just one more new unfamiliar meaningless place, that he would walk into and look around, and nothing would be his, nothing would be familiar, and everyone would watch his face, hoping, praying for it to light up with recognition. And it wouldn't, and they would look away, pretending not to be disappointed, but he would know better.

And why should he care anyway? He didn't know them. At least, that's what his head told him. But he felt obligated to try and remember, because it was obvious they all knew him, and the way they talked, what they had together wasn't something you could find every day. Besides, he felt he should at least be polite. They seemed like nice people. And obviously, they were the kind of people he could be friends with. Even if they both seemed a bit high strung at the moment. He ought to give them a try.

But a part of him, the part that made him scowl at the nurse and stubbornly refuse to admit he had a headache, told him that he didn't want to try. He just wanted to do what he wanted to do, and lock himself away for the rest of his life, and let everyone else go rot. He'd always been a loner type, he liked being alone. Or was that just something he told to himself? He felt like it was the truth, it had always been the truth, but it also felt wrong now. But he didn't like all this change, he hated all this change. He wanted to be where he was comfortable, he wanted to be able to go to someplace familiar and shut his eyes and forget all his troubles and be everything he had been a few weeks ago when he left the ranch.

He was stubbornly holding onto that person he had been, in an attempt to control at least a part of his life. It was all too much, it was too much change to accept. It was overwhelming. Everything in his life was so drastically different. He would at least hold onto who he was. That was something he could control. Nobody could take himself away from him. Not the doctor, not this city, not Davy's stories of who he was supposed to be in this strange new reality he found himself in. He was going to hold onto what he could remember. He was not going to let go of this part of himself. As long as he could hold on, he would squeeze.

* * *

Davy took a sidelong glance at Peter as the cab pulled into the driveway. It was obvious Peter was nervous. He hadn't said much the entire ride home, but Davy had been trying to distract him by talking about how they were going to make changes around the house over the next few days to make things more accessible for Peter, and how they'd hired a nurse to help take care of him and Mike, whenever Mike came home. Peter had asked if Davy knew when that was, and Davy had ended up saying that he didn't know when Mike would be coming home, but he hoped it was soon. The whole situation with Mike was a constant worry in the back of Davy's mind, but he was trying to avoid thinking about it. Peter had nodded and gone back to staring out the window, and Davy tried to change the subject.

After awhile, he began saying the same things over and over until the cab pulled up. "Welcome home, Peter," Davy said as the cab driver got Peter's wheelchair from the trunk of the cab. He brought it around to the door and set it up, and helped Peter into the chair.

"Thanks, Davy," Peter said absently, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun.

"Everything ok, Peter?" Davy asked as he paid the cab driver. "You've been really quiet lately."

"Yeah," Peter said. "Just tired."

Davy bit his bottom lip, Peter wasn't a very good liar, but Davy didn't want to push him. "Well, if you want you can go take a nap when we get inside," Davy said. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Some," Peter admitted.

"Alright," Davy said, hiding his worry by cheerfully pushing Peter's wheelchair toward the door with his one good arm. Peter glanced at Davy over his shoulder. "I, I can roll it, Davy," he said.

Davy shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Peter," he said with a smile. "You'd be surprised how strong a one-armed short British singer can be." Peter seemed about to protest, but Davy continued talking as they reached the front door. "Micky's waiting inside, he'll be glad to have you back... Wait a minute...what's this?" He frowned in confusion as he looked at the front door. It had changed. It was the same style, but wider. And brand new.

"Looks like the door's bigger," Peter said. "That's good cause this chair is very wide. I didn't think it was gonna fit through our old door. But didn't you say you were going to hire someone to do it tomorrow?"

"Yes, I did," Davy nearly growled as he pushed open the door. It hadn't taken long for him to guess what had happened. "Micky!?" He demanded, walking through the door.

"Hmph?!" Micky groaned from the couch where it looked like he'd been passed out all night. "What? What's happening?"

"We're home," Davy said coldly, moving Peter's wheelchair and parking it next to the lounge chair.

"Hi!" Micky said sitting up and smiling at them.

"Micky, can I talk to you for a second?" Davy asked, walking towards the back patio.

"I was actually gonna get dressed and head out to the store," Micky said.

"But I just got home," Peter said sadly.

"Micky, it wasn't really a question," Davy said holding the door open. Micky sighed heavily and followed Davy outside. Davy closed the patio door and frowned at Micky. "So," Davy said. "I noticed the front door is different."

"Yeah, it is," Micky said nonchalantly, not looking Davy in the eye. "Put it up last night. Had to get things ready for Peter."

"And I noticed the furniture is arranged differently too," Davy noted.

"Yeah, well, he needs more room to move around," Micky said. "Those wheelchairs are wider than you would think."

"You shouldn't be doing this stuff, Micky!" Davy exclaimed. "You have several cracked ribs!"

"Not several," Micky said stubbornly. "I'm fine. It needed to be done."

"How did you even do this on your own?!" Davy exclaimed. "There's no way you could have lifted those doors on your own! And how did you even get the money?"

"My parents gave me some money to help out with stuff," Micky answered. "And I wasn't alone. I had help, so get off my back!"

"You still did a lot of the work on your own, didn't you?" Davy spat. "You need to be healing, not working! You heard what the doctor said."

"Look, Davy, last time I checked I was an adult and you weren't my keeper," Micky snapped. "So get off my case and leave me alone. It had to be done and I didn't feel like waiting around! It's done. You can't change it now."

"Micky, you promised me you'd start taking it easy," Davy said. "You're gonna hurt yourself!"

"I'm fine," Micky barked turning on his heel and storming towards the door to go back in the house. "And I don't have to deal with this from you!" He pulled open the door angrily and stormed past Peter, climbing up the stairs three at a time and going into his room, slamming the door. Peter watched anxiously before turning to where Davy was coming back into the house.

Davy immediately softened when he saw Peter. "Did you hear any of that?" He asked, coming over and sitting on the lounge chair next to Peter.

Peter bit his lip nervously. "A little," he said. "What happened?"

"Nothing important," Davy said.

"You guys were arguing about Micky making repairs," Peter said.

"Yes," Davy answered. He didn't want to go into it too much with Peter because he knew Peter was already stressed and nervous, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave Peter hanging. "Micky shouldn't have done this on his own. He's got several cracked ribs and needs to rest."

"Oh," Peter answered. "Maybe he will now."

"I hope so," Davy answered though he really doubted it. He knew Micky was going out every day looking for jobs, but he couldn't figure out how to make Micky stop. He knew they both needed jobs to help pay for rent; he couldn't rely on his grandfather's money for very long, but doing a job that was too hard on them would only hinder them. Davy had been looking for an easy desk job or call center job like they had at that message agency, but Micky was looking for anything. He was pushing past his pain and ignoring it instead of resting and Davy feared that pretty soon, Micky would completely crash.


	11. Changes

Author's Note: As always, please review to let us know what you think!

Chapter 11: Changes

As the door slammed behind Micky, angry tears began forming in his eyes, and he stormed over to his bed and punched his pillow. He wasn't sure exactly why he was so angry, he just knew he had to get away. He sat down on the bed and wiped the few escaped tears away furiously. What was wrong with him? He'd been up all night making sure everything would be ready for Peter, just to storm out angrily when Peter finally got home.

Remembering the look on Peter's face as he and Davy came in from the patio was enough to cause the tears to return. That was what had pushed him over the edge, Micky realized. He was tired from being up all night, he was still feeling badly about causing the accident, Davy was frustrated with him about all the renovations, but that wasn't the worst thing. It wasn't until he'd seen Peter- Peter- sitting helpless in a wheelchair. That was when he'd lost it.

The tears were falling freely now as Micky thought it over. It wasn't right, that was the problem. It was just plain straight wrong that such a tragic thing had happened to Peter. Peter, who always hoped for the best and saw the good in everybody, now sat broken in a wheelchair, quiet and afraid of his own home.

"It should be me," he thought. "It never should have happened to him. It should be me in that wheelchair."

The thought was frightening, and yet, it felt right. Peter was kind and gentle, and innocent and light-hearted. He didn't deserve to be paralyzed. Micky, on the other hand… this whole mess was his fault to begin with. If anyone should have to deal with such a thing, it should be him. But it wasn't him, it was Peter, and that alone was enough to make anyone upset.

Micky couldn't hide away forever, though. It wasn't fair to Peter or Davy. Micky cringed, realizing exactly what had just happened. He had blown up at Davy, who, as annoying as it was, had only been worried about him. It made Micky feel guilty. He knew how stressed Davy was, it wasn't fair for Micky to make him worry more than he had to. Davy just didn't understand, Micky had to do this. But it wasn't fair to make him worry. He would try to patch things up with Davy, and from now on, he would be more careful not to let Davy know when he worked, so he wouldn't worry.

As soon as Micky felt calm enough, he stood up and walked to the door. He paused, taking a deep breath. He had to do this, for Peter's sake. He had to try and be upbeat and positive about all this, at least in front of Peter. He opened the door and made his way down the stairs, swallowing thickly. He felt the eyes of both Peter and Davy as he walked, but avoided looking at them until he got to the bottom of the stairs.

Looking up, he realized he had no idea what to say to either of them. He hated it, he hated not knowing what to say to two of his closest friends. He was supposed to be able to talk no matter the situation, and now he had nothing to say. And judging by the silence, neither of them knew what to say either. The silence only lasted a few moments, but it seemed to stretch on into eternity. Finally, Micky cleared his throat, and turned to Davy first.

"I'm sorry, Davy," he blurted. "I- I should've waited on the renovations, you were right. And I'm sorry I got so defensive earlier. I didn't mean to fight. I just wanted things to be right for Peter." Davy still looked angry, but after a moment, he sighed, the anger washing away.

"I'm sorry too," he said. "I just got frustrated. I mean, you're supposed to be taking it easy. I don't want you to get hurt again, Micky. I'm worried about you." Micky made himself chuckle and wave his hand dismissively.

"Aw, don't worry about me," he said flippantly. "If all the bad guys and monsters we've faced in the past two years couldn't hurt me, I don't think a little extra work around the house will hurt me." Davy just raised an eyebrow and Micky laughed. "I'm just kidding. I'll be more careful from now on, alright?"

"Alright," Davy nodded. "Now then, I think we should celebrate Peter's coming home. Don't you?"

"Of course!" Micky said, turning to Peter and smiling. "Welcome home, Peter!" Peter smiled back, but it was uncertain, and Micky inwardly kicked himself for allowing his anger to overcome him causing him to fight with Davy in front of Peter. With everything Peter was going through, he shouldn't have had to watch them fight.

Micky put on his best face, though, and began going through a flurry of impressions and routines as he and Davy got a little bit of an early lunch together, while Peter watched silently. Micky didn't let up, and he finally managed to get a laugh from Peter halfway through dinner. After that, Peter seemed to be feeling a little better, a little less nervous, and Micky considered the morning a success.

After lunch, they all talked about anything and everything that didn't matter, and avoided talking about everything that did. Davy noticed Peter yawn then, and remembered his earlier promise of letting Peter take a nap. They took him into the bedroom and got him ready and in bed, and then went back into the living room.

"Well, that went fairly well," Davy said, sitting down on the backless couch.

"Yeah," Micky said. "When did you say the nurse was gonna get here?" Davy looked at his watch.

"In an hour or so," he said. "Hey, Micky, I just want to say, I thought you were great just now. I really am sorry I got so mad earlier."

"Don't worry about it," Micky said. "Really. I'm fine." A flash of irritation crossed Davy's face, but he just sighed.

"Alright, fine," he said. "But I still think you were great. I couldn't get him to feel any better, no matter how hard I tried. He needs you, Micky. I just can't help him like you do. I can help in certain ways, but no one can cheer anyone up the way you can. I've been so worried about him lately. He won't admit it to us, but he's scared. Understandably, but no matter what I try, I just can't seem to help him feel better. I don't know how you do it, but that smile today was the first genuine one I've seen in a while."

"Yeah, well, I'm irreplaceable like that," he said with a little half smile. "Now, I'm actually feeling pretty tired myself, so I think I'll grab a nap too. Do you think you can handle keeping an eye on things for awhile?"

"Yeah, I can handle it," Davy nodded, obviously happy that Micky wanted to rest. "Go ahead."

"Alright. Thanks, Davy," Micky said, and he turned and climbed up the stairs towards his room. He felt a little guilty, although he did intend to grab a quick nap, that wasn't really why he left. He just wanted to be alone right now.

Walking into his room, he stood in the doorway and looked around the small room, taking in everything. It just wasn't fair, he told himself. Davy was stressed out, Peter was paralyzed, and Mike… Micky went over and sat down on the edge of Mike's empty bed. Mike wasn't Mike anymore. Not really. Not the way he was now.

Why did bad things have to happen to them? They were good people, they didn't deserve all this. It just wasn't fair. Micky stood up and crossed over to his own bed, laying down and looking up at the ceiling. Life royally sucked, he decided. But… at least he still had his friends. As long as he had his friends to fight for, he would never ever stop fighting. His friends kept him going, there was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for them.

No matter the cost.

* * *

About an hour later, Peter heard Davy knock on their bedroom door. Peter hadn't really been able to fall asleep, but he'd at least rested some. The entire hour he laid on the bed, thoughts raced through his mind. He was grateful that Micky had made the changes around the house to make him feel more comfortable since that had been one of his biggest worries, but he also felt terrible that Micky worked so hard for him when he should have been resting.

He didn't remember too much about the accident, but he had been told what had happened. Some drunk had been speeding and had hit them causing the car to spin out of control. Davy, Micky and Mike had all been thrown from the car, but Peter's seatbelt had kept him firmly in his seat as the car hit a barrier and flipped down a hill. The doctors had said that Micky had risked his own life to pull Peter from the car. If Micky hadn't, Peter would be dead. Micky had literally saved his life.

In doing so, Micky had gotten even more injured. It was when the car had exploded, that Micky's ribs had been broken. If he hadn't been trying to save Peter, he wouldn't have been as hurt as he was. He would have recovered by now and he wouldn't be in any pain. Peter was grateful Micky saved his life, but felt that he had to repay Micky for sacrificing so much to save him. Peter knew he would have done the same thing for Micky. They all would have done the same thing Micky did for any of them.

"Peter," Davy said opening the door a bit. "I really hate to interrupt your nap, but the nurse we told you about should be here soon and I thought you'd want to come meet her."

"Of course," Peter answered. Davy came into the room and helped Peter get into the wheelchair parked next to his bed. He was already dressed, so once Peter was comfortable in the chair, Davy wheeled him out of the room and into the living room. Peter still wasn't sure how Davy could be wheeling Peter around so well with only one good arm, but just let it go.

"I'll go get Micky," Davy said. Peter nodded and Davy climbed the spiral staircase and knocked on Micky's door. He said something to Micky through the door and came back down.

"When is she getting here?" Micky asked following him down.

"Any minute," Davy said. As soon as he said it, someone knocked on the door. Davy crossed to open the door.

"Good morning," the nurse said on the other side of the door.

"Good morning," Davy answered with a smile. "Come on in. Peter, this is Debi. She'll be your nurse."

"Hi, Debi," Peter said. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Tork," Debi smiled. "Do you have any questions for me before we get started?"

"Call me Peter, please," Peter answered. "What exactly is it you're going to do?"

"Well, I'm going to help with your medications and work you through the exercises your physical therapist tells you to do here at home," Debi answered. "As well as help you learn to cope and deal with your condition. There will be some exercises the physical therapist will give you to do at home that I will help you with as well as massages to help avoid blood clots. You'll have to move frequently to help prevent sores and keep the blood flowing properly, which I'll make sure to remind you about. I see you have already made some changes around here to help Peter feel more comfortable moving around."

"Yeah," Davy answered. "That was Micky." Peter saw Davy and Micky exchange a look with each other, but neither said anything. They'd apologized to each other, but Peter had the feeling they hadn't fully made up. There was still a chance they could go at it again. Micky wasn't going to back off and rest and Davy wasn't going to stop begging him to rest.

"Well, it looks like everything's good here as far as maneuverability," Debi said looking around. "But there are a few other little things most people don't think about. There some things we can install in the bathrooms to help make it easier to use."

"I have those on order," Micky said. "And a seat for the shower."

"Those are good," Debi said.

"How long are you going to stay?" Peter asked curiously.

"Davy hired me to be a full in-home nurse to start with," Debi answered. "I'll be here first thing in the morning until you go to bed at night. Any time you need me during the day, I'll be here. I'm going to teach your friends how to take care of you at night should you need it."

"Oh," Peter said glancing at Micky and Peter. He wanted Micky and Davy to rest now. They both had to heal on their own. And Micky had already done enough to help him. This is why he was so nervous. He didn't want his friends to help him. He didn't even want the nurse to help him, but he would tolerate it since Davy had already paid her.

"Don't worry about anything, Peter," Micky said. "This is what friends are for. If we could do this all on our own we would."

"I know," Peter said honestly. That's not what was bothering him; he knew they were more than happy to help take care of him, but he didn't want them to. They had their own lives to deal with. Peter didn't want to drag them down by being the invalid they had to babysit.

Peter sat back and listened while Debi walked them all through the things she'd be doing for Peter. Peter blushed at some of them, not even having thought about how his paralysis would affect him in private. He hoped that his paralysis would go away soon, so he wouldn't have to take care of certain parts of his daily life. He didn't even want his best friends to deal with it, but knew he couldn't do it on his own. Not yet. He vowed to work as hard as he could to get to that point as fast as possible.

Davy informed them that he'd already made Peter's first appointment with a physical therapist for the following day and Debi said she would accompany Peter to make sure she knew what exercises he was to do at home. She even had a vehicle that was wheelchair accessible to drive him there. She also began telling Davy and Micky about the details of what they would have to do to take care of Peter at night. Davy said it would most likely be him taking care of Peter at night since they shared the room together. As much as Peter wanted to object, he knew he couldn't. He felt honored to have friends like these, but he felt guilt at having to rely on them.


	12. Overwhelmed

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, guys, we're both busy and overwhelmed ourselves.

Chapter 12: Overwhelmed

The next morning, breakfast was cut short when the phone rang, delivering happy news: Davy had a desk job. His new employer, Mr. Faust, had seen the Monkees play before, and wanted to help them get back up on their feet. He was willing to give Davy a chance, and had even pulled some strings to get him started as soon as possible. Davy rushed to get ready and left excitedly, saying with a smile that their luck was starting to look up. He told Micky that he would try to visit Mike after work, as his new job was in the city not too far from the hospital, and he probably wouldn't be home until visiting hours were over.

Micky was happy that Davy had gotten the job, but for more reasons than Davy was. Micky was glad Davy was happy and that he was able to work, but it also worked out well for him. With Davy out of the house during business hours now, Micky would be able to continue looking for work without Davy knowing, especially if he left while Peter was at physical therapy. But Peter wouldn't be leaving for about half an hour, and Micky was trying to at least take it easy for a little while, for Davy's sake, so after he cleared breakfast away and made sure the house was clean, he sat for a little while to talk to Peter, who still seemed too quiet.

"Ahh…" Micky sighed as he sat down. He had to admit, it felt good to sit and do nothing, even if he was antsy to get going on his job search.

"Are you alright, Micky?" Peter asked.

"Right as rain," Micky said. "Just taking a bit of a rest." Hopefully, Peter would report this to Davy later on. "How about you? You feeling alright?"

"Yeah," Peter said, looking away for a second. "...Maybe a little nervous about physical therapy."

"Don't worry," Micky said. "We all had to pretend to be patients in that clinic when you got kidnapped looking for Professor Schnitzler, and we did some physical therapy. It wasn't that bad; just various exercises and stuff. It's gonna be a bit different for you, but I'm sure everything will be fine."

"Hey, Micky," Peter smiled. "Remember when we substituted you for Professor Schnitzler on the gurney, and then Mike and the evil doctor fought over whose patient you were?"

"Oh yeah," Micky said. "I don't think I've ever been so dizzy in my life. And then when you guys all started wheeling me around the halls, that was a fun trip."

"Yeah…" Peter said. "Were you scared?"

"Of course I was," Micky said looking at his friend and seeing the fear staring back at him. "But I knew I was going to be ok. I knew you guys were gonna look out for me. I knew you guys wouldn't let anything happen to me. And we're gonna do the exact same thing for you, Pete. We're gonna make sure nothing happens to you."

"I know," Peter said. "That's not what I'm afraid of."

"You wanna talk about it?" Micky asked.

"I don't really know what to expect," Peter said. "What if it hurts? What if it doesn't work?"

"I'm pretty sure it's gonna hurt," Micky said. "But you'll have to push past it. They're gonna be working muscles that haven't worked for a while. If you don't do it, you won't ever know if it'll work for one and for two, you could seriously hurt yourself. You don't move your legs enough, you could get a blood clot or something."

"How do you know all that?" Peter asked.

"I've done some reading," Micky said. "Doctors gave us pamphlets and stuff. I wanted to make sure we knew what to do."

"I really don't want that," Peter said.

"What do you mean?" Micky asked.

"I don't want to put you guys out for me," Peter said. "Especially after what you've already done."

"Peter, we're friends," Micky answered. "Friends help each other. That's what they do. It's in the job description."

"Micky…" Peter started.

"Before you start, that was a joke," Micky said cutting him off a little. "I want to do this. I wanted to change the house; to get it ready for you. I want to help you. So does Davy. You have nothing to feel guilty for."

"Neither do you," Peter said silencing Micky. "I was talking more about what you did for me just after the accident. The doctors told me what you did. How you crawled into that car to cut me out. How you risked your life to save mine. You've done more than enough for me already, Micky. You don't have to keep straining yourself for me. You can just rest now."

"I am resting, Peter," Micky said.

"Davy said you were out looking for a job every day," Peter said.

"I am," Micky admitted, "but I have to. Not just for you. For all of us. We have to pay rent somehow, right? Don't worry so much about me, Peter. I'm not as hurt as Davy says I am. I'm fine. And besides, I want to do these things for you. When I crawled into that car, it was all instinct. I didn't even think about the possibility of me dying. The only thing going through my mind was what might happen to you. You gotta admit: you would have done the same thing in my shoes. Same thing with Davy and Mike."

"I know," Peter sighed. "But I just don't want you guys spending the rest of your lives taking care of me. I want you to live your own lives; not sacrifice them for me."

"We won't, Peter," Micky said. "I have to believe that you'll recover from this, Peter. But even if you don't, we'll still be there for you whenever you need us. That doesn't mean we'll be sacrificing ourselves for you. Lots of people still lead full happy lives taking care of loved ones with disabilities. And you're not going to lose out on life either. Ray Charles played blind. Beethoven was deaf and wrote some of the best pieces known to man. Just because you can't move your legs, doesn't mean you have to stop playing, Pete. We can probably figure out a way to move the foot pedals on the piano so you can reach them. You can easily work around that. And you can easily hold a guitar and a banjo on your lap."

"I don't know, Micky," Peter said. "I don't know if I'll feel the same way sitting."

"I have no doubt you'll be fine, Peter," Micky said standing up and looking at his watch. It was almost time for Peter's appointment; Debi had gone to the store to pick up a few things that she said Peter would need. "Let's get you ready for your appointment. Debi will be back any minute to take you." Micky helped Peter get ready for his appointment and when Debi got back from the store, he helped her get him in her van. After he was sure Peter had left, he started walking down the street again in search of a job. He knew taking whatever he could get would make Davy and Peter upset, but he also knew he had to. They'd forgive him eventually, right?

* * *

Once again, Mike felt lonely. He had been stuck in this hospital for almost three weeks now and he was getting stir crazy. They had gone through another round of tests and exams with Mike and he was getting tired of them. The MRI machine was loud and annoying and he really just wanted people to back off. And he desperately wanted to go home. These plain white walls felt like a prison cell to him. He didn't know where home was or what it would be like, but he knew it had to at least be better than this place. Mike looked up as Davy came in and felt a small spark of happiness, though he didn't really know why or where it came from.

"Hey, Mike," he said smiling and sitting down in one of the chairs. "How ya doing?"

"I'm doing just great," he said dryly. "Never felt better in my life."

"Well, your sarcasm sure wasn't affected," Davy laughed. "I've got some good news, though. I got a job!"

"Congratulations," Mike said, somewhat absently.

"I have even better news," Davy said. "The doctor says you'll get to go home in a week! Isn't that great!?"

"Best news I've heard all week," Mike said excitedly.

"I knew you'd like that," Davy smiled. "We miss you."

"I know you've told me before, but tell me about the house again?" Mike asked hoping that maybe this time something would click in his memory. "And about Micky and Peter?" He saw a flash of something in Davy's eyes, but wasn't sure what. It was quickly gone, however, and Davy smiled.

"Sure thing," he said. "The Pad's great. It's right on the beach, and we've got a huge bay window, right on the bandstand." Mike laid against the pillow listening as Davy continued on, but just like the other times Davy had talked about the pad, he felt nothing. No glimmer of recognition, no flash of remembrance… not even a slight sense of deja vu. He sighed, something that did not escape Davy's notice, and he paused in his narrative with a worried frown. "You alright, Mike?"

"Well, 'bout as right as I can be, I s'pose," Mike said. "It's just not working."

"Not even a little?" Davy asked.

"Not even a little," Mike affirmed. "It's like… like you're describing someplace I've never been."

"...Well, maybe when you see it you'll remember," Davy suggested hopefully.

"I doubt it," Mike said irritably. "If just seeing something was supposed to work, than I should have remembered you. But I don't. I don't remember any of this." As soon as the words left Mike's mouth, he wished he hadn't spoken. Seeing the look on Davy's face- although what look it was, he wasn't sure- made him feel guilty. He bit his bottom lip, suddenly realizing that he'd gotten sloppy. He'd come to count on this boy, he'd gotten too close. He couldn't afford to be tied down, not now.

Narrowing his eyes and looking away, he put his shields back up. There was no way he was making himself vulnerable. Accepting that he had known these guys was one thing. Trusting them with his heart was another. He'd been hurt too many times to let himself go so easily. Even though he was trying not to look, he could still see Davy, and it was obvious by the look on his face that Davy sensed the sudden change in mood.

"...Mike?" He asked.

"Yes, Davy?" Mike responded, turning to look at Davy while trying to pretend like he didn't care. It hurt; it hurt to pretend he didn't like the little guy… he almost thought of Davy like an actual friend, not just somebody he didn't really know. But it was for the best. Davy hesitated before responding as though trying to find the right words.

"...Nothing," he said finally, shaking his head and looking at the floor. They sat for awhile in silence before Davy began chattering again, although his efforts seemed a bit lackluster. Mike joined in when he had something to say, but for the rest of Davy's visit, there was tension between the two of them, hanging in the air like a thick curtain. Soon it was time for Davy to go, and after a rather nervous goodbye from the younger man, Mike was left alone.

He sat broodingly for awhile, thinking over the events of the day. He hated the way he had treated Davy, what had seemed like protecting himself from hurt at the time now seemed, in retrospect, like he was pushing Davy away. He didn't want that. In this new crazy life he had woken up in, he wanted, he desperately needed, someone to help him stay grounded, to be a steady constant. He felt like he was floundering, drowning in an ocean of new faces and new buildings and a new sky and a new home.

But instead, he had stubbornly exiled himself from the closest thing to a constant he had. He wouldn't be surprised if Davy didn't come back. He would deserve it. After how he had treated Davy, when he only wanted to help, he deserved nothing less. The quiet and the emptiness of the room engulfed him. He couldn't do anything right, it seemed. Even when he only wanted to protect himself, he just screwed everything up. What was wrong with him?

In the back of his mind, a tiny voice told him he was overthinking things, that it wasn't as bad as it seemed… But that voice was drowned out by fears of the future, as his mind switched topics and he tried to picture the house, based on Davy's descriptions of it. His idea of how it looked continued to shift, until, frustrated, he gave up the effort.

He finally rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with his injuries. He found himself in an unfamiliar world of chaotic novelties, and it had him very much overwhelmed.


	13. Please Don't be Long

Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to get back. I had some issues, but I'm better now.

PlushChrome's author's note: And I also couldn't spare much time for writing, as I had other things that were taking up most of my time and couldn't get to my stories. Also, quick trivia note about the chapter title: "Please Don't Be Long" is a line from a Beatles song called Blue Jay Way, which I was listening to as I wrote. It's a very haunting song, and it really fit the mood I was going for in one section.

Chapter 13: Please Don't Be Long

Micky returned to the pad counting his lucky stars and feeling a mixture of relief and anxiousness. The reason for his relief: he had finally found a job, he would begin his work as a busboy the following week. The reason for his anxiousness: he had taken a lot longer than he had planned, and wasn't sure if he would beat Davy home from work, and he knew that Peter had returned home from physical therapy several hours ago. Opening the door and seeing only Peter and the nurse, Micky sighed nervously and entered.

"Hiya, Pete," he said lightly, not really looking at Peter as he walked past to the kitchen.

"Hey, Micky," Peter said. "Um, were you… looking for a job?"

"Does it really matter?" Micky sighed as he poured a glass of water. "How'd physical therapy go?"

"Alright, I guess…" Peter said, now looking away himself. Micky turned. Peter was shutting him out? Why? What had happened? He glanced at the nurse, but she didn't speak up. Since Peter wasn't needing any attention right now, she was reading a book.

"Alright?" Micky asked, sitting down next to Peter. "Just alright?"

"Well…" Peter said. "It was hard."

"You wanna talk about it?" Micky asked but Peter shook his head.

"Did Davy know you were gonna look for a job today?" he asked.

"Come on, Pete, don't change the subject," Micky said. "I'm trying to help you."

"You changed the subject first," Peter noted. Micky bit his lip.

"...Fine," he said. "Yes, I was looking for a job. No, Davy didn't know about it. But everything's alright now, I found a job, so I can settle in nicely and Davy can stop worrying over silly things."

"You found a job?" Peter echoed. "It's not too hard, is it?"

"Naw, it's not hard at all," Micky said. "Very easy work."

"What are you gonna be doing?" Peter asked.

"It's nothing," Micky sighed. "I got a job as… a taxi dispatcher," he lied easily. "I sit at a desk and take calls, then I radio the cabs and tell them where to pick up their fare." Peter blinked.

"Oh," he said. "Well, that sounds alright."

"There, see, nothing to worry about," Micky said, feeling guilty about lying to Peter but trying to justify it in his head by telling himself that it was necessary. "Now will you talk about physical therapy?"

"There's not much to talk about," Peter shrugged, although Micky saw his eyes shift as he said it. "Nothing really happened that I need to talk about." He was quiet, and Micky waited patiently. He couldn't force Peter to open up, but if he gave him a little space, he might do it on his own. "...It was pretty hard, though," Peter finally admitted. "I'm really tired now."

"Do you wanna take a nap?" Micky asked but Peter shook his head.

"If I do, I won't fall asleep tonight," he said. "I'll just wait." He sounded so despondent that Micky suddenly felt a lump in his throat and coughed loudly to mask it. Taking a sip of his water, he noticed Peter eye the glass for a second, and Micky mentally slapped his forehead. Peter had already stated that he didn't want to make them work harder to take care of him, of course he wouldn't ask Micky to get up and get him a glass of water, especially if he was worried about Micky's own health.

Sooner or later, they would have to address this, Peter needed to let them know when he was thirsty or needed help with anything. But for now, when Peter was tired and obviously depressed about his paralysis, Micky would humor him. Luckily, he was always a quick thinker and a gifted actor.

"Ah, man," he said animatedly, looking into his glass. "I picked up a dirty glass!" With that, he stood and huffed into the kitchen, dumping the water down the sink and rinsing the glass. Filling it again, he turned to Peter and added, disguising it as an afterthought. "Hey, want me to grab you a glass while I'm up?"

"...Sure," Peter said quietly.

"Cool," Micky said, turning back to the sink and pursing his lips in worry. He had expected something like this, of course, the shock of waking up paralyzed and not knowing if he would ever walk again would really shake Peter up. But it still made him sad to see Peter so down. Walking back over, he handed Peter his glass and began sipping from his own.

"Oh yeah," he said, narrowing his eyes as he lied once more to Peter. "Please don't mention my job to Davy, I want to tell him myself later, I don't think he'd like hearing it from a third person. He'd probably think I'm purposely keeping it away from him." Which, he was, but really, his lies were justifiable. Really.

Peter frowned in confusion, but nodded slowly. "Okay, Micky," he said and Micky smiled.

"Thanks, Pete," he said flippantly, swallowing back the guilt he felt at taking advantage of Peter's trust. Again, he tried to convince himself the lie was necessary.

For the next hour, he sat around and chatted endlessly, while Peter sat and listened, interjecting into the conversation when he had something to say, but for the most part, just sat. He yawned once or twice, but Micky's chatter seemed to comfort him somewhat, so Micky kept it up. After awhile, the door opened then and Davy came in, looking a bit dejected himself.

"Hello, Micky," he said. "Hello, Peter."

"How's your job working out?" Micky asked.

"The job's great," Davy said. "I was a little unsure of what I was supposed to do at first, but once everything was explained to me, I got it down."

"Well, what's the matter?" Micky wondered.

"Oh, it's just… well, I guess I'm just a little upset about Mike, that's all," Davy finally said.

"Oh," Micky said, looking down. "Yeah, I'm upset too."

"I wish I could see him," Peter said. "I… I know he wouldn't remember me, but I just wish I could see him…" Micky looked at Davy; he had forgotten, Peter hadn't seen Mike since the accident. It had to be hard for him.

"Well, he's getting released next week," Davy said. "I'm sure-"

"Wait," Micky said, interrupting Davy, his eyes wide. "Did you just say Mike was getting released next week!?"

"Oh yeah!" Davy said. "I almost forgot to mention it! The doctor talked to me today, and Mike will be able to come home next week!"

"That's wonderful," Peter said, smiling a real smile. It made Micky smile too. Yes, Davy had a job now, he would start a job next week, and Mike would be home soon. Things were finally starting to look up.

* * *

Micky woke up with a start, sitting up in bed. He looked around, unsure of what exactly had awoken him. It was very dark, and he was alone in the room. A bit of moonlight filtered in through the window and he looked at the dresser to his alarm clock. It read fifteen minutes past three. He hadn't been having a bad dream, what had woken him? Suddenly he heard Davy's voice coming from downstairs, calling for him.

"Micky!" Davy called. He sounded very scared, and desperate. "Micky! MICKY!"

Micky jumped out of bed and reached the door in less than a second. His heart was in his throat, and he jumped down the stairs three at a time. He had no idea what was happening, and that was half of what scared him. In his suddenly-waking state, images of Peter, Mike and Davy lying dead on the street flashed through his mind. Reaching the door to Peter and Davy's bedroom, he flung it open and rushed inside, stopping when he almost bowled over Davy, who had just reached the door, probably coming to get him.

"Davy, what's wrong!?" Micky demanded breathlessly. Then Peter yelled out in his sleep, and Micky didn't need an answer. Looking over, he saw Peter thrashing in his bed. It looked odd, as he was only struggling with the upper half of his body, but the effect just made it seem even more haunting at the time. He looked to be fighting to get away from some unseen terror, and he was drenched in sweat. He was crying and whimpering, letting out a few yells of unbridled fear. Cold, cold fear, without restraint or reason. He continued to yell, no words, just an animalistic wail of terror.

"He's having a nightmare," Davy stated, pale-faced. "I can't wake him up!"

"Peter," Micky said, kneeling by Peter's bed and clasping his hand. "Peter, wake up! It's alright, you're at the pad, you're safe!"

"M-Micky!?" Peter called out, still asleep, but Micky's voice reaching into his dreams.

"Yeah, Peter, it's me," Micky said. "Davy's here too. We're here for you, you're safe! Wake up, Peter, it's just a nightmare!"

"M-Micky…" Peter said again, still thrashing, but slowing. "Micky…"

"It's alright, Peter," Micky said again. "It's alright, you're safe. We're here."

Peter finally stopped thrashing, and opened his eyes. Looking up at Micky, he shuddered and his eyes were bright with fear. "It was a nightmare?" He croaked out.

"Yeah, Peter," Micky said. "It was just a nightmare."

"They're not… gone?" Peter asked, his voice now a whisper. Micky swallowed, knowing exactly what Peter was talking about.

"No, Peter," he said, shaking his head. "They're not gone. They're still there." Peter nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry, Peter," Davy said, stepping forward. "Everyone gets bad dreams." Micky took a long hard look at Davy, suddenly wondering if Davy was having nightmares, or even just trouble sleeping. He had to remember that even though Davy's injuries weren't as visible as Mike's and Peter's, but he still needed looking after as well. For now, though, he had to return his attention to Peter.

"That's right, Pete," he said. "Everybody gets bad dreams. Don't be sorry." Peter nodded again, but shrunk into his pillow, staring at the wall, obviously still afraid.

"Peter," Micky said soothingly. "It's okay. We're both here for you. You're not alone. You're home, you're at the pad. You're safe. We're not gonna let anything hurt you."

"Yeah, Peter," Davy added, talking softly himself. "Don't be afraid. We're with you." Peter began blinking sleepily and nodding off, he really was very tired. Micky and Davy continued to reassure him as he drifted off. Once they thought he was asleep, Micky stood and looked down at him for a few moments, before turning to leave. Peter mumbled something then, and Micky paused.

"What was that?" he asked quietly.

"Where's Mike?" Peter repeated, halfway between sleeping and waking. Micky swallowed.

"He'll be here soon," he promised. "Don't be afraid, Peter. We're all safe."

"Okay, Micky," Peter said again, and then his head shifted slightly as he fell, at last, to sleep. Davy sat down on the edge of his bed and sighed.

"Thank you, Micky," he said quietly so as not to wake Peter. "Sorry to wake you, I just… I saw him, and I blanked, and I couldn't figure out how to help him…"

"It's alright Davy," Micky whispered back. "You did the right thing. Don't be afraid to ask for any help, and Davy, are… are you having nightmares too?" Davy shifted.

"...Sometimes," he said. "But nothing like that. When I woke up and saw him like that, it scared me to death." Micky nodded.

"It was pretty scary," he agreed. "...Now, get some sleep. You're a working man now, you need your rest." Davy laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he said. "...Thanks, Micky."

"Hey no problem," Micky said. "Now, I'm gonna go to bed. Have a good sleep, Davy." Davy nodded, and Micky left the room. As he climbed the stairs, he felt drained, emotionally and physically. As soon as he hit the bed, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	14. Homecoming Part 2

Author's Note: As always, let us know what you think, please!

Chapter 14: Homecoming Part 2

Peter was getting tired of doing his exercises every day for the last week. He'd been doing them all day. One of them he was working on was a sort of pulley system where he pulled down on a weight that was attached to his foot over a pulley. When he pushed the weight down, his leg lifted up. He was supposed to do 20 of them on each foot a day and the nurse was helping him get set up with it. Afterwards, the nurse would massage the muscles in his legs. He wasn't quite sure how this was helping, but he did it anyway. He looked up and paused when Davy walked in looking exhausted.

"Hey, Davy," Peter said with a smile, grateful for a small distraction. It was getting late and Davy had been at work, but he hadn't been expected home for another few hours. "You're early."

"Hey, Peter," Davy answered. "Yeah, they let me go early. Arm is really hurting today. How's the exercises coming?"

"Boring," Peter said. "And it's not helping."

"Well, you just gotta keep at it," Davy said. "It takes time. You don't know that it's not helping."

"Maybe," Peter shrugged and started the exercise again after a stern look from the nurse.

"Where's Micky?" Davy asked.

"Uh…" Peter started. He knew Micky was at work, but he also knew Micky hadn't told Davy about it yet and he'd promised Micky he wouldn't say anything to Davy until Micky had a chance to talk to him. He wasn't exactly sure why Micky wanted to keep it a secret, but he had made a promise. "He should be back soon."

"Where is he?" Davy repeated sitting down across from Peter.

"He's just out," Peter said.

"Peter?" Davy asked. "You're not very good at lying or hiding things. What's going on?"

"Micky made me promise not to tell," Peter said.

"He got a job, didn't he?" Davy asked.

"Maybe," Peter said.

"Doing what?" Davy asked.

"Davy, please, Micky said he wanted to talk to you about it," Peter said.

"Why?" Davy asked.

"I don't know," Peter answered. "I just promised him I'd let him tell you. He should be home any minute though." As if on cue, the door opened again and Micky walked in. He looked even more exhausted than Davy and as soon as he saw Davy, he froze for a second.

"Hi, Davy," Micky said nervously. "I thought you weren't supposed to get home for another few hours."

"They let me go home early," Davy said. "I wasn't feeling good. Where were you?"

"Out," Micky answered looking back and forth between Peter and Davy.

"Micky, please just tell him," Peter pled putting down his exercise equipment. The nurse could see the tension between them all, so she just excused herself to the bathroom saying she'd start his massage in a little bit. "He already knows. I didn't tell him. He just figured it out."

"Fine," Micky sighed walking over and taking another chair nearby. "I got a job, just like you."

"You need to be resting a lot more than I do," Davy said. "We've been over this. You've got cracked ribs. It makes it harder for you to breathe and working and moving around a lot isn't going to help."

"I'm not," Micky said. "I'm a taxi dispatch operator."

"Then why do you smell like seafood?" Davy asked.

"Lunch," Micky said. "I had some shrimp for lunch."

"You smell like a lot more seafood than that," Davy said moving closer and sniffing him. It was weird to witness and Micky even backed away uncomfortably. "You smell like garbage, seafood, and french fries. You smell like a waiter or a busser at a seafood restaurant."

"You just walk around sniffing people?" MIcky asked.

"Micky, please don't lie to us," Peter said noticing the smell as well. In fact, he'd noticed the smell all week, but never really said anything about he.

"Ok, fine, I'm a busboy at a seafood restaurant," Micky sighed. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd get mad, but I promise I'm not overdoing it. I'm fine. It's the only job I could find and we need money to pay for rent and food and everything else."

"Micky-" Davy started to argue but Micky cut him off.

"We have to go get Mike in the morning," Micky said standing up, "so why don't we all just go to bed and get some sleep. I'm gonna take a shower myself and head off to bed." Without another word, Micky walked into the bathroom when the nurse walked out. Peter and Davy looked at each other, but didn't say anything. Davy only sighed and walked into his bedroom to lay down. Debi walked over to Peter and helped him onto the massage table he laid on every night before bed. She'd explained massaging the muscles would help with any blood clots that tried to form in his legs and help keep the muscles themselves loose.

As she massaged his legs, Peter's thoughts drifted. He hated the fact that Micky lied to him, but he'd suspected it the entire week. He wondered why Micky would feel the need to lie to them, but knew the answer almost immediately. Micky felt guilty about the entire accident; that much was obvious to anyone. Sometimes Micky could barely even be in the same room as Peter and Davy, but when he was, you could read the guilt plastered on his face. Micky wanted to get a job to help pay the bills, and because of the guilt he bore, he didn't care what the consequences were. Davy wanted him to just stay home, but Peter knew Davy's income alone wouldn't be enough to help them with all their bills.

He understood why Micky lied, but he still didn't like it. And he understood why Micky had to work, but he didn't like that either. Especially the job he had. Being a busser meant a lot of heavy lifting and a lot of moving around. That meant a lot of strain on Micky's ribs. And it would not be very good for Micky's healing process. Peter thought about saying something to Micky and asking him to quit, but knew how stubborn Micky was. He knew it would just lead to another argument which would only increase everyone's stress which would also impact everyone's healing. And with Mike coming home, Peter wanted the home to be as stress free as possible. So Peter decided he'd be quiet about his feelings to keep the peace.

* * *

Mike stood in his hospital room looking out the window. He could almost feel the sunlight through the pane of glass, but it wasn't quite enough. He knew he'd be going home today, but he still wasn't even sure what that meant. Davy had tried to tell him about the house and about the adventures they'd been through, but he wasn't sure how much Davy was exaggerating. Some of those adventures seemed very far-fetched and very crazy. A soft knock drew him out of his thoughts.

"How are you this morning, Michael?" the doctor asked walking in.

"I'm fine," Mike answered.

"Pain level?" the doctor asked.

"About a 3 or 4," Mike answered honestly. His head had truly never stopped hurting; it was one endless headache.

"Well, it seems to be getting better," the doctor said. "You sure you're ready to go home today?"

"I don't really even know what home is," Mike admitted. "But I don't want to stay here anymore. I need to go outside."

"I understand," the doctor said. "But you need to make sure that you follow my discharge instructions carefully. Your seizures haven't stopped, so you need to make sure you're resting as much as you can. With a brain injury as severe as yours, there is going to be a lot of side effects like this to deal with. You may even have issues forming new memories. I'm going to give you some medications at home to try and control the seizures, but it's important you follow up with a doctor to make sure they're working."

"I will," Mike said. He didn't really remember having any seizures, but he had been told that over the last few weeks he'd had about 5 seizures in total. He wasn't sure what they were like, but knew they were a bad sign. He hadn't really had any problems remembering new information, but he did feel tired all the time and was going stir crazy. He'd do whatever the doctor said if it meant getting out of here.

"Hey," Davy announced knocking on the door.

"Hello, Mr. Jones," the doctor said. "I'll get the discharge paperwork started and you can leave in a little bit. There are some things I want to go over with you for at home care before you leave."

"You got it, doc," Davy said with a smile.

"Micky and Peter didn't come?" Mike asked after the doctor left.

"No, Micky had to work early and Peter's got another physical therapy appointment," Davy answered. "But they'll be home within a couple hours and will be there when we get home."

"Oh," Mike said. He was a little disappointed that they hadn't joined Davy, but understood they had other obligations and at least he was getting out of the hospital. Over the next hour, the doctor prepared medications for them to take home for a few days until they could get the prescriptions filled and he went over some at home instructions with Davy on what to do if Mike had another seizure. Davy looked a little terrified, but listened very intently.

Once everything was taken care of, they wheeled Mike out of the hospital, insisiting it was hospital rules. Davy showed him the Monkeemobile, but there was no recognition in it. It was as if he were seeing the car for the first time despite the fact that Davy said it was his baby. On the way home, Mike looked at the buildings they passed, hoping for at least some spark of recognition, but nothing came to him. He'd never been in this city before. It looked fun, but it definitely wasn't home. Home was the ranch with Aunt Kate and his cousins. After about an hour, they pulled up to a big house on the beach and Davy just kind of sat there for a minute looking at Mike.

"Anything?" Davy asked.

"No," Mike said sadly.

"Well, maybe when you get inside," Davy said.

"Maybe," Mike said, though he sincerely doubted that would be the case. So far nothing ignited even a slight spark of recognition in him. If the outside of the house didn't spark anything, he doubted going inside would. But he decided to humor Davy anyway. No need to spoil the hope of two people. So he followed Davy inside the house, noticing the sign that said "Keep off the grass." He didn't recognize it, but still thought it was funny.

Inside, Mike looked around hoping to see something familiar to him, but nothing was. Two men, a blonde and a brunette, were sitting at the kitchen table. He assumed the blonde was Peter, since he was the one sitting in the wheelchair which meant the other was Micky. They both smiled at him when he walked in; their faces lighting up with excitement. It was an emotion he recognized on other people who'd been excited to see someone after a long time, but he didn't recognize them as his friends. He hated the feeling of not being able to recognize anything.

"Hi, Mike!" Peter smiled. "Welcome home!"

"Yeah," Mike said half-heartedly. He was still trying to look around the house to see something he recognized, but there was nothing. There was a weird dummy sitting in the corner under a sign that read "Money is the Root of all Evil". There was a fire extinguisher next to the front door with a handwritten sign next to it saying "In case of fire...RUN!". There was a stuffed chimpanzee in the corner and a creepy looking vulture hanging over another door. It was all very weird and unfamiliar to him.

"This is home, Mike," Davy said. Behind the words, he could tell Davy was asking if Mike recognized anything at all.

"Home," Mike repeated. The word almost seemed hollow. This wasn't home.

"Your room is upstairs," Micky said pointing at a door up a spiral staircase. "We share it. The bathroom is there, a closet, and obviously the kitchen. The bandstand is over there."

"That's right," Mike said. "Davy said we were in a band."

"You don't even remember that?" Peter asked.

"No," Mike said. "I remember getting on the train from Texas to come out here, hoping to make it big. All I had was my cheap 6-string mahogany Fender guitar and a few clothes. That's it."

"I remember that guitar," Davy said. "It broke not long after we started performing. You saved up enough to get a new one. A 12 string Gretsch that you nick-named blonde beauty."

"That's it!" Micky said jumping up with such ferocity that Mike actually took a step back. Micky ran over to the bandstand and grabbed a beautiful looking guitar before rushing over to Mike. "If you remember something, you gotta remember your guitar! You love your guitar! It's like a piece of your soul!" Mike looked at the guitar. It wasn't the one he remembered. But he took it from Micky and wrapped the strap around himself. Davy pulled up a chair and he felt all their eyes watching him as he sat down and looked at it.

"Try it, Mike," Peter said.

"I don't know what to play," Mike said.

"Just try something," Micky said. "Anything. Just start playing whatever comes to you." Mike sighed, gave it a little strum and plucked out a little tune. He wasn't sure what he was playing, but it finally felt familiar. Holding this unfamiliar guitar and playing this unfamiliar tune was the one thing that finally sent a spark of recognition through him. He didn't know how he knew what strings to play, but he did. And he even found himself humming an accompanying tune to go along with it. When he felt like the song he'd played was over, he looked at his friends. They all had smiles on their faces; smiles full of pride.

"What?" he asked.

"You don't know what you just played, do you?" Davy asked.

"Not really," Mike said.

"You played "Don't Wait for Me"," Peter smiled. "You wrote it a few months before the crash."


End file.
